www.TFCyberHaven.com

August 18, 2006

Prowl leaned forward over the console, scrutinizing the three dimensional computer generated model of his latest defensive strategy for defending the Ark against a possible Decepticon attack scenario.  All the settings were correctly adjusted and all the Autobots were in their assigned positions, so he dimmed the overhead lights and tapped a few keys on the console, initiating the battle scenario on the computer. On one of the screens next to him, the computer scrolled through a lengthy listing of attack calculations based on the latest known Decepticon attack strategies and patterns.

The strategist watched with curiosity as the glowing translucent images of the Decepticons approached the holographic image of the Ark set into Mount St. Hilary. He set time delays into the model to conservatively approximate how long he figured it could take for the Autobot forces to assemble without notice into his defensive formation.  The Seekers approached ahead of the flanking Decepticon forces, aiming to take out the Ark’s automatic defenses. Images of Cliffjumper, Brawn, Smokescreen and Jazz appeared near the entrance to the Ark on simulated guard duty and began to fire at the approaching jets.  An image of himself, Prime and Ironhide emerged next, followed closely by Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

He was pleased with the sequencing.  As the Autobots began to move into formation the Seekers began to circle above the cone of the large volcano, locating themselves out of range of the Ark’s laser cannons. The jets worked together, concentrating their firepower, to knock out one of the laser cannons before being dissuaded by the fire from the grouping Autobot forces. Prowl frowned. He hadn’t expected the Seekers to act together intelligently like this when fired upon by several Autobots.  Perhaps the computer was enacting this strategy because it assessed the emerging resistive forces to be too weak.

Bluestreak, Mirage and several of the minibots next appeared at the entrance to the Ark. Prowl was intrigued by this timing.  The gunner definitely would have been better placed sooner in the scenario.  He watched as the image of Bluestreak turned around to face the volcano, preparing to fire on the circling jets. Prowl knew the silver gunner was a good shot, but he also knew Bluestreak’s inhibitions and had programmed in a probability that the gunner would not attack. He squeezed his fist into a ball, waiting for the gunner to defend himself and the Ark. Precious time passed as the image of the gunner froze. One of the Seekers strafed the side of the mountain, targeting the motionless Autobot.  Prowl sat back, disappointed. The model will need some work. Mirage and Hound appeared behind the gunner to defend him against an attack. Finally the image of Bluestreak let off one of his shoulder mounted missiles at the jets. The resulting explosion tore clean through the wing of one of them.  As he let off his other shoulder mounted missile at another jet, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe moved in to finish off the first damaged jet as it fell out of the sky and transformed.

A communicator screen flashed to life to the right of Prowl, distracting him from the remainder of the scenario playing out.  The images of the Autobots and Decepticons continued their play of war, without his attention given to them.

It was Wheeljack.  Prowl sat up straight, surprised to see the engineer’s image on the screen. It was not typical for Wheeljack to directly contact Prowl, and the strategist wondered what the purpose of the call was. “Yes, Wheeljack? What is it?”

“I need to see you in my workshop,” the engineer stated, the lamps on either side of his head flashing blue.

“Uh,” Prowl punted, suspicious of Wheeljack’s statement. “What’s going on?”

The engineer laughed.  “Oh don’t worry.  Nothing’s gone wrong, I just need to see you here.”

Before Prowl could answer, the image of Wheeljack disappeared and the screen went dark.  Prowl frowned. He stopped the computer model. Perplexed as to what the engineer wanted to see him about, the black and white strategist got up and left his office for Wheeljack’s workshop. He passed down the corridor and, as he approached the intersection to the adjacent corridor, a large familiar red and blue Autobot appeared, going in the same direction as he was.

“Prowl,” the Autobot commander greeted, “Did Wheeljack just call you?”

“Yes.  Do you know what this is all about?” Prowl was clearly displeased at being summoned without advance notice and without an adequate explanation of what he was needed for.  Improper protocol was something that he would have to discuss with Wheeljack later.

“You know Wheeljack,” Prime suggested, half joking.  “He’s probably got some new invention that will solve all of our problems.”

They passed Gears, who was walking in the opposite direction.  The minibot happened to be within range to hear the exchange between Prowl and Optimus and lent his opinion.  “Or he’s looking to blow himself up for good this time.” 

Prime and Prowl paused, turning as Gears passed them.  The red and blue minibot was his typical grouchy old self.  “Glad I’m not you,” he proclaimed as he continued down the main corridor, not even bothering to face them as he spoke. He made a large sweeping motion with his arms to indicate an explosion.

Prowl quizzically raised an optic ridge. “Do you know who else Wheeljack asked to come to his workshop?”

“He wanted just you and me to see his invention,” the Autobot commander explained as they continued through the Ark. “He said it was something of strategic importance.”

“Hmm.  Now I’m interested.”

The strategist and the Autobot commander approached Wheeljack’s workshop and the doors opened automatically.  They paused for a brief moment before entering. It was always wise to ensure that the workshop was safe to enter, to make sure that some experiment had not gone wrong resulting in an explosion or some other chaos.

Wheeljack was seated behind a console, making an entry into a computer.  “Glad you could make it,” the engineer greeted them and got up, “Come on in.”

Prowl followed Optimus Prime into the workshop.  The black and white strategist looked around, unimpressed by the disarray of Wheeljack’s workshop. Half finished work and tools lay everywhere about the workshop. To him, Wheeljack’s projects appeared to be the work of a scatterbrained genius, one who didn’t have the discipline to finish something through from beginning to end without being distracted by another project.  Prowl looked from his surroundings to Wheeljack.  “So what’s this invention of great importance?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Wheeljack chimed, starting the sell of his device. He picked up what appeared to be a non-descript metal box, and held it in the palm of his outstretched hand. Pointing to it with his other hand, he looked seriously at Optimus.  “I call it the Spark Cell. It’s quite simple.” He handed it to Prowl, who looked surprised to receive it, and continued to explain. “I wanted to find some way to recover an Autobot’s spark should he be terminated in battle. The device basically detects vital systems functioning and will automatically download the Autobot’s spark into it if it detects that termination is occurring.”

Prowl and Optimus both looked intrigued. While they hadn’t known what kind of invention to expect, this sounded like something very unique indeed.

Prowl looked for a hole in the logic behind Wheeljack’s device.  “So what’s the advantage if someone is damaged beyond repair?” Prowl inquired.  “Won’t the device be damaged as well, possibly even destroying it?”

“It won’t get damaged because I’ve taken great care to shield it from the typical types of explosion, radiation, fire, and so on that you would expect to cause critical internal damage.” Wheeljack slowly paced in front of them, deep in thought for a moment, then stopped and turned to Prowl. “Prowl, let’s say one day you get blasted. The blast penetrates your energon regulator shielding and ruptures a main fuel line. I know it’s highly unlikely, but in that case, even a small amount of energon could become highly unstable very quickly, leading to an internal fire or explosion that could spread throughout your body and leave you as a burned out shell.”

“That’s quite graphic,” the strategist stated flatly. 

“Agreed,” Prime affirmed, surprised by Wheeljack’s description.  “Wheeljack, what are you suggesting we do with this device of yours?”

“Quite simply, I think everyone ought to have one of these devices installed in them, to save them from being destroyed.  I’ve already taken the liberty to have Ratchet install one in me. It’s a last chance device - the perfect way to prevent the Autobots from being exterminated.”  Wheeljack paused and raised a finger for emphasis. “And the ‘Cons wouldn’t know to look for it after you fell.”

“Hmm,” Prime considered aloud as he cupped his battle mask in his hand.  “Your invention has merit. But how are we to deal with your device afterwards?”

“The device would keep the spark in a state similar to stasis lock, like when we crashed here, before Teletraan-1 reactivated us,” Wheeljack continued. “The device has its own power source and therefore could last virtually indefinitely because the power draw is so low.  All you have to do is to retrieve the device and download the spark into a new body.  Simple. Oh, and I’ve configured it so that it will only match standard Autobot spark integration protocols.”

Prowl probed Wheeljack’s last statement. “What exactly are you saying?”  

“What I’m saying is that as long as you retrieve the Spark Cell, basically any Autobot can use it to transfer your spark to a new or even rebuilt body.”

Prime turned to his strategist.  “Prowl, what do you make of this?”

Prowl inspected the simple-looking device. He turned it over in his hands, and noticed an indicator light on one face.   He held up the device towards Wheeljack. “What’s to stop this device from being triggered prematurely?  If that were possible an Autobot could suddenly go off line.  Or worse, if the Decepticons found some way to trigger the device remotely, it could disable us all at once.”

“I thought of that,” the engineer responded. “The device is also shielded against tampering signals.  It requires additional feedback from your systems to verify an encrypted vital systems signal for it to operate.  Once installed in a new body, it will automatically download your spark…of course, as soon as it detects a functional new Autobot body.”

“Good thinking Wheeljack,” Prime commended him.

“I’d hate to wake up as a Decepticon,” Prowl agreed, tilting his head to one side. But he was still not sold on Wheeljack’s invention, so he crossed his arms. “It would appear that your invention is a good idea, but I’m not convinced that we should use the Spark Cell without seeing the results of testing on it, first.”

Prime considered Prowl’s recommendation. “I agree,” the Autobot commander concurred.  “We need to see proof that the device works as intended. All our lives would depend on it.”

Prowl nodded. 

Wheeljack sagged.  Testing the Spark Cell was something that he had not done yet.  “I’ll find some way to get you test results.”  He sounded dejected as Prowl and Prime began to leave.   

Prime stopped in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder.  “Wheeljack, it’s a good invention.  We just don’t have enough information about how well it works yet.”

***

The sun glinted off the telephoto camera lens as it turned to follow the trajectory of a dust cloud speeding across the dry valley floor.  The camera zoomed in on the dark head of the cloud, adjusting focus until the outline and details of the speeding object became clear. It was a black car following the same dirt tracks that led to Autobot headquarters.

A moment passed, and the camera zoomed in closer on a red object on one side of the back window.  An Autobot symbol! The camera rotated slightly to view the front half of the vehicle.  It was the familiar young human male that was known to associate with the Autobots. That last piece of information was confirmation enough.

The camera burst into three pieces, each piece transforming into a virtually identical robot.  The Decepticon triplets came to rest behind the rock outcropping where they had just been collecting reconnaissance in camera mode, and began to consider the information gathered.

“This Autobot is not known to the Decepticons,” the three robots echoed in unison.

The triplet on the left turned to face the others as if to speak individually, however they all answered themselves in unison.  “But I haven’t seen it transform. The evidence is circumstantial.”

The three Decepticons once again considered the evidence all at once.  “The male human is frequently seen with the Autobots. They think the human helps to disguise them.”

“But I recognize the ruse,” the camera robots responded together.  “I must alert Megatron.”

The center robot lifted his forearm to his chest, and a communicator window popped open. “Reflector to Megatron,” the triplets echoed together. An image of the Decepticon leader appeared in the arm communicator window.

“What have you learned, Reflector?” Megatron inquired coolly.

“A new Autobot has just appeared approaching Autobot headquarters.”

Deep under the surface of the Pacific Ocean, inside Decepticon headquarters, Megatron pondered the news from his master spy. Intelligence reports had not indicated that Prime was constructing another Autobot.  In fact, there was no indication as to where this Autobot had come from.  The Decepticon leader recalled how they had found Starscream’s old colleague, Skyfire, paralyzed in the Arctic ice, and revived him to join the Decepticon cause. Although Skyfire converted to the Autobots shortly thereafter, Reflector’s recent discovery gave Megatron an idea.  He spoke to the image of Reflector on the screen in front of him. 

“Good work, Reflector. The Decepticons must make contact with this newcomer.  Perhaps he does not know there is an alternative to the Autobots.” Megatron’s optics glowed ominously.  “Reflector, Soundwave will send you the coordinates of a rendezvous point. We will meet you there in one megacycle.” The communication ended and Megatron nodded to Soundwave.

“As you command, Megatron,” the communicator droned in response.

Megatron opened a communication channel to the leader of the Stunticons. The image of Motormaster swayed slightly back and forth, disappeared to show the metallic wall of the Decepticon headquarters in the background, and then finally, a moment later, Motormaster came back into view again, steady and clear.

“What is going on?” demanded Megatron sternly.

“Uh, sorry, Megatron,” the Stunticon leader excused himself so as not to appear disrespectful to his leader.  He tapped his forearm communicator with an index finger. “Um…technical difficulties.” He shot a menacing look across the table from him at Scrapper, with whom he had just lost an arm wrestling match because of the interruption. The green and purple Constructicon leader was gloating and proclaiming loudly the superiority of the Constructicons over the Stunticons to his fellow combiner team members.

“Motormaster, the Stunticons are needed for battle in one megacycle at the following coordinates.” Megatron ordered and Soundwave’s coordinates followed. “And tell Scrapper that I also want Devastator there.”

Scrapper flinched as he heard Megatron mention his name, and the celebrating Constructicons fell silent.  Obviously, the Decepticon leader could hear him through Motormaster’s communicator.

“As you command, Megatron,” the Stunticon boss quickly acknowledged.

Megatron closed the communication link with Motormaster. “I am eager to meet this newcomer and introduce him to the Decepticons.”  Megatron’s maniacal laugh echoed through the hallways of Decepticon Headquarters.

***

The shape of the familiar volcano rose on the horizon against the cobalt sky.  Spike pressed the gas pedal to the floor and shifted up into fifth gear as he glided down a slight hill, coming into the final straightaway leading to Autobot headquarters.  It was a beautiful, warm spring day and college exams were finally over. The trials of another year at college and a bad relationship were behind him and he needed some time to kick back, unwind and get away from the ordinary world before starting his summer job. 

He glanced in his side and rear view mirrors, checking out the size and length of the dust plume trailing behind him as he followed the Autobot tire track road.  The wind whipped in through the open windows, causing one of the top flaps of a cardboard box holding some food and cooking supplies in the back seat to slap up against its heaping contents. The perennial greenery was quickly returning to the valley floor, after a mild Pacific Northwest winter and a warmer than usual spring.  He tore along the dirt road, sending up stones as he went.  Conifers on both sides closed in until he finally disappeared into the evergreen forest surrounding the last rise before the entrance to the Ark.

Less daylight streamed through the reaching canopy overhead. The evergreens relentlessly swept by on both sides, disappearing into darkness in the distance.  It was amazing to see the shafts of sunlight filtering through the trees like some kind of mystic illumination.  The mystique of the setting also made it, he realized, the perfect place to be ambushed by Decepticons.  He supposed that was why the Autobots talked about trying to avoid being drawn into battle in the heavily wooded area.  Had the Ark been the base of the Decepticons instead of the Autobots the trees would have likely been all cut down or incinerated to increase defense, but the Autobots thankfully cared about the Earth’s environment and sought not to interfere with it more than absolutely necessary.

The giant rock face of the approaching mountain peeked through the trees here and there as the forest began to thin out again.  Ahead of him, Spike could see the dirt road rounding its way up the final barren rock hill.  Suddenly, the last few trees fell away and he emerged from the forest.  The gigantic Ark stood before him, shining like brushed copper in the mid-afternoon Oregon sun.  The spectacular size of the back end of the ancient Autobot spaceship standing proud of the side of Mount St. Hilary was always unreal to behold.  The image lent insight into the sheer magnitude of the tremendous impact that caused the ship to suffer such terrific damage and throw all the occupants into stasis lock nearly four million years ago. 

As he approached the Ark, he could see a familiar yellow and black figure waving his arm eagerly at him from one side of the entrance to Autobot headquarters.  The sun glinted off the Autobot as he moved in the sunlight.  A smile crept across Spike’s face and he relaxed back into his seat, glad to see his Cybertronian friend again and to be near the very end of his long drive. He slowed to minimize the dust, and rolled up to Bumblebee, shifting the car from third into first gear before braking and stepping on the clutch pedal.   

The minibot bent at his knees and craned to see Spike through the driver’s side window.  A big smile spread across his faceplate and his optics glowed vibrant blue.  “Hey Spike, good to see you,” Bumblebee enthusiastically greeted his human friend. The Autobot placed his large black palm up to the driver’s side window and Spike’s comparably tiny hand high-fived it.

“Good to see you too, Bumblebee. Been a long time, hasn’t it? What – about a year now?”  Spike scratched his head.  Holy cow, had that much time actually passed? “It’s just been crazy how busy I’ve been,” he explained, shaking his head apologetically.

“Tell me about it. Lately, I’ve been put on a lot more patrols around here. Like today.” Bumblebee shrugged.  “Sorry I couldn’t get away to go pick you up – just got off duty.”

“Don’t worry about it. The drive was good for me after my last exam and I wanted to show you my new set of wheels anyway.” Spike tossed his hand back at his car. “So, what do you think?”

Bumblebee stood up and cocked his head to one side.  “You, uh, didn’t choose one in yellow?” The Autobot tried his best to feign a concerned look.

Spike laughed at his friend. “They didn’t come in yellow.”

“That’s strange,” Bumblebee figured. “I thought humans could make cars any color they wanted.”

“It doesn’t quite work like that.  They only made this Honda in a few colors.” He paused, realizing from Bumblebee’s expression he was only complicating the matter with information that would likely only lead to more questions.  “On second thought, never mind. Sometimes they just decide they want to limit the number of colors available.”

“I still don’t get why,” Bumblebee shrugged, still mystified by the strange human ways of doing things, “but if you say so….” 

Spike took his right hand off the wheel and placed his arm behind the passenger side seat, stretching.  “Anyway, take a look, tell me what you think,” he motioned with a flick of his head for Bumblebee to take a walk around to go see the other side.

Bumblebee circled the car. Spike was obviously proud of his new car.  It was not an Autobot, but it was probably the best thing Spike could afford.  He returned from behind the car to the driver’s side, smiling again. “Nice touch on the back,” he complimented, pointing with his thumb to the back of the car. You’ve got good taste.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Spike replied shyly with a slight wave to Bumblebee. “I saw a sign at a local auto detailing shop that said they could make a decal of any design, so I thought, hey, why not?”  Spike recalled how the guy at the detailing shop thought the hand drawn Autobot symbol that Spike had brought in was some kind of street racing logo.  Most people still didn’t pay much attention to the difference between the factions.  The media did report that some of the robots protected humans, but mostly the news reports focused on the spectacular damage caused by the Decepticons as if all the public really wanted was to be titillated by the equivalent of a traffic accident.

“And I like the way you got your name on your license plate. It’s cute.”

“…Cute?” Spike winced.

“Uh, I mean cool.” The yellow minibot laughed self consciously. “Sorry about that. I meant cool.  Hey! Do you think they could make one of those for me?”

“Your name would be too long.  It has to be six letters or less.”

Bumblebee lowered his shoulders in disappointment and he mimicked a sighing sound. Sometimes the human ways of doing things seemed overly complicated and confusing.  “Oh well.”  He let the idea go since it was not really a big deal to him, and brightened up again, focusing back on the rest of the vehicle.  “Nice looking car, Spike. I, uh, thought you said last time you couldn’t afford one of these, though.”  He turned and raised his chin away as he spoke, looking at Spike suspiciously out of the corner of his optics.

“Relax, ‘Bee,” Spike rubbed his right eye with the palm of his hand to ease the strain on his tired eyes.  The sunlight reflecting off the metallic Ark was starting to become too bright for him to bear after the long drive, and the interior of his car was also starting to heat up to an uncomfortable temperature now that he had stopped driving. “You know, I made some good money with the job Dad got me with the oil patch. A guy can pull in a lot of double time during the overhauls.”

“Double-time?” Bumblebee asked, not familiar with the term.

“Yeah - hey, let me park this and you can help me with my stuff.”  He smiled politely at Bumblebee and eased off the clutch pedal, moving his right foot from the brake to the gas. He rolled back an inch and then moved slowly forward over the ten feet or so of dry rocky earth between the front of his car and the threshold of the Ark.  The smooth metallic contour of the Ark felt comparably like gliding over glass as he drove inside, turned, and parked up against one side near the entrance, facing out of the base.  Immediately in the cool shade inside the goliath ship, Spike sighed, and squeezed his eyes tightly together as he stretched his back through the shoulder blades, finishing with a big yawn. He shook his head to wake himself up.  The day had been busy already.  He had woken up early to pack enough stuff to stay with the Autobots for a couple of weeks, then took off to his last exam in the morning. Right after the exam, he grabbed the groceries from the fridge, stopped to picked up a sandwich and a pop and ate on the way out to meet Bumblebee. 

Spike flung the door wide open and stepped out of the car. He casually stretched again, turned around, and pushed the driver’s seat forward so that he could bring the box out of the back seat.  He carried it over to Bumblebee, who bent over and easily picked it up as if it were feather-light.  “Sure is nice to have someone like you around.”  Spike smiled at his minibot companion and then popped the trunk to get the rest of his stuff.

“Do you think I could get a job as a bellboy?” Bumblebee joked.  Spike pulled himself up out of the trunk, a sleeping bag under one arm, quizzically looking his friend over and then shook his head.  They both laughed at the thought.

Spike set down the sleeping bag to retrieve another box, which he also handed to Bumblebee.  Lastly, he grabbed his backpack from the trunk, slung it over his right shoulder then picked up the rolled up sleeping bag before closing the trunk with his free hand.  He made a final check that he had everything before the two headed down the gently sloped, wide entranceway into the heart of the ship.

They followed the dusty tire tracks left by Autobots that had driven down into the Ark.  At different points along the way the various tracks abruptly ended where the tracks’ owner had transformed and walked the rest of the way.  Spike couldn’t tell which Autobots’ tracks he was looking at. I bet Hound would know.  Bumblebee did not appear to take notice of the tracks.  Instead, the minibot looked off into the distance, his thoughts elsewhere.  The temperature dropped a couple of degrees as they walked further into the subterranean section of the broken ship. A slight breeze, brought on by the indoor-outdoor temperature difference, wafted them past them.

An engine echoed in the distance below them, growing steadily louder as it approached. A few moments later, Windcharger flew past them in vehicle mode, full throttle.  He swerved to miss Bumblebee, who luckily was the one who was closer to the speeding car.

“Hey, watch it!” Bumblebee scolded him as he spun around as the other minibot ripped past him. “What’s wrong with walking around here?  You could hit someone!”

“Sorry, ‘Bee – gotta go” Windcharger called out over his engine. He shifted up and sped off through the bright opening to the Autobot base, disappearing over the crest of the hill at the entrance.  The roar of his engine faded quickly and the passageway fell quiet again.

“Gee, that was close,” Spike stated in a tone of disbelief with wide eyes. “He nearly creamed you.”

“Yeah, I wonder why he’s in such a hurry?” Bumblebee wondered, downplaying the near collision.  “…must be late for something.  Better stay close to the side in case anyone else comes flying through here.”

They passed by the doorway to the first of several large rooms where many important Autobot meetings and strategic planning took place.  Prowl and Jazz were within view, congregating near Teletraan-1. They stopped their discussion when they saw Spike and Bumblebee through the doorway, passing by down the main corridor.

“Hey, Spike. Long time, no see.”  Jazz quipped in his usual jovial tone.  He slouched a little, looking cool, and placed his hands on his hip plates.  “What’s up?”

“Hi Jazz, Prowl. Good to see you guys again.” Spike smiled and waved amiably. Prowl returned a slow, casual salute after a moment.  “Just been busy with school,” Spike explained.

“Looks like you’re set to be here for a while,” Prowl commented, noticing the two boxes Bumblebee was carrying.

“Yeah, I don’t start my summer job for a couple of weeks.  So I’ll be camping here for the next little while.”

“Well, take care not to get into any trouble.” the strategist stated without expression.

“Aw, he won’t get into trouble, Prowl,” Jazz said. Prowl was so serious that most of the time he just came across sounding uptight.  Jazz smiled and practically purred. “Ol’ Spike’ll be just fine, what with all us Autobots around.” 

“Thanks, Jazz.” Spike acknowledged and he and Bumblebee continued on their way.  Bumblebee smiled and nodded to the two black and white Autobots. Beaming, Jazz returned the gesture in like and Prowl nodded.

Once out of range, Spike leaned over and whispered to Bumblebee, “Does Prowl ever lighten up?”

Bumblebee tilted his head as he looked up, thinking about the question for a moment. “Occasionally,” he finally answered. “He usually doesn’t show it in a big way, though.”

Spike rolled his eyes. The tone of Prowl’s comment reminded him of a parental warning.  He had moved away from home and had been living in a rental apartment for about a year now. He was glad to be out of his Dad’s house and finally on his own.  While his Dad was not overbearing by any means, it just felt good to be in control of his own life and not have someone worrying about him. “I don’t know if I could live with someone like that.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that sentiment.” Bumblebee was quick to respond.  Spike looked up at him, anticipating an explanation. “It’s just that, well, not everyone likes Prowl – c’mon, you know that.”  The minibot grinned knowingly.

Spike chuckled, thinking of comments about Prowl that he had heard over the years. “I guess so.”  Although he had not paid too much attention to some of the interrelationships between the Autobots, it made sense. He knew Autobots like Bumblebee the best because they readily accepted human friendship. Some of the others liked to remain more distant and were more difficult to get to know.  Prowl was one of them.  He was not unfriendly, just unreadable. You never knew what he was feeling because he rarely showed it.  Prowl did not socially connect well, either. 

Spike and Bumblebee greeted a few of the Autobots as they passed through the Ark.  At last, they reached the spare Autobot quarters that Spike used as a guest room when he visited.  Because the base was a long drive from civilization it made sense for him to stay for at least a few days at a time.  The door slid open with a hiss and Bumblebee and Spike entered. It closed promptly after them. 

“It’s like I was here only yesterday,” Spike recalled with nostalgia, looking around the coppery orange room. The lights were already on before the door opened, which gave the room a welcoming atmosphere.  That, combined with the sight of some of the stuff that he always left there, such as the energon-powered space heater, portable skillet and small fridge that Wheeljack had converted for his use, the human-sized table and chair, and some books, left him with the feeling that he had never really left.

The room was huge by human standards.  It was Autobot-sized, complete with an oversized bunk and a huge desk and console meant for recreational use by a large occupant.  Some ad hoc stairs allowed him to climb up onto the bunk to sleep.  He set down his backpack on the table and climbed up the stairs to drop his sleeping bag down on the metal bunk. His old pillow, dwarfed in size, still lay up there from his last visit. 

Bumblebee set down the two cardboard boxes he was carrying on the floor next to the table and sat down at the far end of the long bunk.  Spike began rummaging through the boxes, pulling out specific items as he found them and setting them aside.  As he got to the groceries, he started putting items in the fridge.

“Do you want any help?” the minibot asked.

“Nah, I’m not going to do everything right now anyway. I’m just looking for…” Spike answered, digging into the bottom corner of one of the boxes.  “Aha! Ketchup.”  He produced the bottle and furrowed his eyebrows as he looked hard at it, wondering how it managed to make it into the bottom corner, before proceeding to put it in the fridge.  “I grabbed it after I packed the rest of the food. I knew that if I didn’t get it out right away once I got here, I’d probably forget about it.” 

Bumblebee changed the subject. “How’s Sparkplug doing?” he asked. The minibot leaned back against the wall and folded his arms behind his head in a relaxed pose.

“Oh, Dad’s fine,” Spike began then stopped to question his friend. “Wasn’t he here just a few weeks ago?”

“Might have been.  I didn’t see him. Like I said, I’ve been on patrol duty more often around here.” The little yellow Autobot shrugged and added with sarcasm, “They must think I don’t have anything else to do.”

Spike snorted. He stood back, put his hands on his hips and surveyed the supplies he unpacked and those still remaining in the boxes and in his backpack.  “Well, that’s enough for now. I’m beat.”

He wearily climbed up the stairs next to the bunk and laid down flat on his back beside the rolled up sleeping bag. He doubled the pillow over and tucked it under his head to prop himself up so that it was easier to see Bumblebee sitting beyond his feet. The bunk was cold and hard.  It was certainly not meant to be comfortable for a human being, but it worked nonetheless.  Spike just thought of it as camping on the ground.

Bumblebee turned his easy gaze from the top of the wall in front of him to focus on the small human figure stretched out beside of him.  “So, how are things with Carly?”

Spike looked away, tired, at the wall to his left. “Oh, not so good,” he sighed.  His expression became glum. “It didn’t work out.”

Bumblebee looked surprised.  “What?  I thought you two were a sure thing”?

“Apparently not,” he spat with a hint of bitterness. He left a long pause, hoping that the conversation would end there, but it became apparent to him from Bumblebee’s expression that his Autobot friend was waiting to hear more. He tried to simplify the situation for him.  “Look…she’s an MIT type, and I…I’m just not that kind of guy.  Besides, she’s a lot more outgoing than I am.”  He crossed one foot over the other and slid a hand behind his head. He looked straight up at the ceiling to avoid direct eye contact with Bumblebee as he spoke. “Oh you know – or, uh maybe you don’t – it’s not like I should expect to marry and have kids with the first girl I ever go out with. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

There was nothing that Bumblebee could think to say to console his human friend. Spike sounded sure that he really did not want to discuss the matter anymore so Bumblebee decided it was best to let Spike be for a while after his trip.  He stood up to leave.

“I’ll let you get some rest,” Bumblebee stated.  “Let me know when you’re feeling up to getting out and doing something.”

“Okay, I’ll come find you.”

Spike closed his eyes and rested.  The door hissed open and he heard the metallic clank of Bumblebee’s footsteps fade away after the door closed. His mind drifted into the state between waking and sleeping, and he relished the sense of falling as the stress of ordinary life dropped away.

Spike awoke to the sound of Teletraan-1’s familiar alarm resonating throughout the Ark. The thunderous clanking of Autobots’ metallic feet ran past his room and down the corridor.  He did not know how much time had passed. He sat up suddenly, and checked to make sure that he was not dreaming. Were the Autobots under attack?

He scurried up off the bunk. As he approached the door, it opened automatically and he saw Trailbreaker hurrying along the corridor.

“Trailbreaker, what’s going on?” Spike pleaded.

The large, black Autobot stopped to answer Spike’s question. “Decepticon attack.  Everyone’s been scrambled.  You should stay here, it’s safer.”  He then continued up the corridor and disappeared from sight.

Trailbreaker was one of the slowest Autobots and was likely one of the last few to leave the Ark for battle.  Ignoring Trailbreaker’s advice, Spike left his room and made his way up the corridor to see if he could learn more about what was going on.  He got to the battle room and found Prowl barking orders at Wheeljack, Ratchet and Bumblebee while Teletraan-1’s monitors repeatedly flashed alert status in the background. 

“Everyone else is on the field so I need someone to stay back and defend the base,” Prowl explained, controlling the placement of the Autobot forces.  He directed his attention to Ratchet, who would have preferred to keep himself out of battle altogether. The medic needed to be functional and able to handle the wounded when they came in afterward. “Ratchet, you and Bumblebee are responsible for holding the entrance to the Ark. There will be a defensive perimeter nearby that should make your job easier.”  Turning to Wheeljack, the strategist continued.  “Wheeljack, you’re responsible for replenishing munitions as the troops run low on their subspaced caches.”

Wheeljack acknowledged the order and hurried out of the room past Spike. “This is bad timing,” Prowl cursed, clenching his fists. “We really need the Protectobots and the Aerialbots here.  We’ll have to rely on the Dinobots to be our strong hand.” The Aerialbots were participating in the air show at the Ramstein Air Base in Germany while the Protectobots were digging survivors out of a collapsed shopping mall in Shanghai.

Ratchet and Prowl departed from the battle room. Bumblebee remained when he saw Spike standing by the doorway. Just outside the room, the other two Autobots transformed and squealed their tires on the metal floor as they peeled away, leaving Spike and Bumblebee behind.

“Spike, just stay here,” the yellow minibot strongly advised as he tensed to transform.

“Wait a second!” Spike called out. “What’s going on?  Why are we being attacked?”

“I don’t know. No one seems to know what the Decepticons are up to. It’s just a surprise attack,” Bumblebee answered as quickly as he could, anxious to get to his assigned station.

Spike quickly turned the information over in his mind, coming to a sudden realization. “Oh no!”

“What?!” Bumblebee demanded.

“I can’t leave my car up there to get blasted.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Prowl just said the entrance will be defended.  Look, if you get me up there, I’ll drive back here and be safe and sound. No problem.”

There was no time for arguing. The idea was against Bumblebee’s better judgment, but he transformed and opened his door to Spike.  “Quick, get in.”

They tore along the main corridor and up the causeway to the entrance of the Ark.  Bumblebee skidded to a halt and Spike jumped out.  The yellow minibot transformed and looked around for Ratchet, but Ratchet was nowhere to be seen.

A large explosion suddenly shook the floor beneath them, nearly knocking both of them off their feet.  A shower of small rocks rained down over the edge of the Ark. The battle was either very close or a large mortar fired from a distance had just erupted nearby. Either way, the blast was too close for comfort.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Bumblebee regretted. He pulled his gun out of its subspace compartment and gripped its handle tightly.  Crouching low, Bumblebee cautiously approached the ship’s threshold to take a look around for Ratchet and the ‘Cons.  He motioning for Spike to stay back. 

The air was filled with the sounds of battle: metal colliding on metal, gunfire and explosions, the roar of strafing jets and desperate verbal exchanges between the Autobots and Decepticons. As Bumblebee crept across the threshold and out into the open, the sounds became much louder and the battlefield fell into plain view before him.

He scanned the Autobot defensive perimeter about a hundred yards below the entranceway, down the uneven, rocky slope to his left. The lay of the mountainside had been modified by the Autobots, as Prowl recommended long ago, to carve out defensive posts for just this purpose. There was a breach in the line where Huffer should have been.  The minibot was lying on his back in an unnatural position about ten yards from his station. That was also where he found Ratchet, who was tending to the wounded Autobot.  Given the choice between deserting his post and helping a fallen Autobot, the medic’s priority was clear.  The red and white Autobot’s back faced Bumblebee as he worked. With Ratchet occupied, Bumblebee realized that he was, at least for the time being, on his own to hold the entrance to the Ark.

Suddenly, a deafening roar overpowered Bumblebee’s audio sensors and he cowered back under the protective shelter of the base.  A blue F-15 fighter jet streaked down out of the sky above the Ark, firing a volley of incendiary bursts at the back side of the Autobot’s defensive chain. Trails of smoldering pock marks scarred the rock in front of the entranceway.  The jet leveled out of a steep dive, kicked on its afterburners, and tore the air to ribbons as it vanished into the hazy distance.

Spike huddled on the ground, blocking his ears with his forearms.

“He’s coming back!” shrieked one of the Autobots.  In the distance, the silhouette of the jet changed shape as it banked sharply for another pass. Rolling thunder reverberated off the distant landscape.  

“Hold your positions and sight up,” hollered Jazz. “Fire on my mark.  Bluestreak! Are you with me?!”  

The sizzle of Thundercracker’s twin thrusters rent the air.  The ominous blue shadow shifted its pitch, lining up for another strafing attack.

“Now!”

Bluestreak’s tracers flew wild of their target.  A second later the Autobot defensive line opened fire.  A brilliant streak of light arced skyward, bearing in on the Decepticon.  Mirage! thought Bumblebee, as a vicious metallic crash echoed through the air. The full length of Thundercracker’s port engine was aflame, shredded by the armor-piercing rocket dart.  Moments later, his starboard engine cut out with a booming cough. Silence filled the air as the F-15 stalled, then gracefully plummeted earthward.

The Autobots cheered.  Trailing smoke, the jet fluttered before transforming mid-air.  Thundercracker descended heavily toward Mirage below, optics glowing venomously and a sneer twisted across his faceplate.  He was poised to deliver a feet-first blow to the Autobot’s torso. The cheer ended abruptly as Thundercracker collided with Mirage and knocked the Autobot off line with an immense crash.

Bumblebee quickly turned to Spike, optics wide with urgency. “You gotta get out of here.  It’s too dangerous.”

Slack-jawed, Spike nodded in agreement.  He struggled to get up and fumbled through his pockets for his keys, dropping them nervously when he finally found them. 

Then there was an ominous metallic growl. 

“Ravage!”  Bumblebee cried and squeezed off a shot at the robotic panther. The nimble cat dodged easily and dropped down from the rock outcropping at the corner of the entranceway. He growled aggressively as he circled Spike and Bumblebee, head lowered and knife-like canines bared. The graceful cat’s feet clinked softly against the metal floor as he stalked. Bumblebee fired two more shots, missing Ravage again as the agile cat hopped effortlessly out of the way.  Ravage sized up Spike and slunk down close to the floor, jostling his shoulders as he prepared to pounce.

Spike realized he had no choice but to make a dash for the safety of his car.  He exchanged a look of desperation with his worried friend, and Bumblebee understood that he had to take down Ravage with his next shot. As he lined up the shot, a blast seemingly from out of nowhere struck his gun, knocking it from his hands.

“Oh no you don’t,” a crazed voice chided.  It was Frenzy.  Ravage forgot his prey and sat up on his haunches, momentarily distracted.  His weapon trained on Bumblebee, Frenzy hopped down the same path that the cat had taken, followed by Rumble, who had his pile drivers engaged.  “Don’t do anything stupid and no one’ll get hurt.”

Spike’s eyes widened at the sight of Ravage’s two companions.  He bolted for the car door and lifted the handle, but something sharp tore into his right calf muscle.  He screamed as a vice-like grip squeezed down on his leg, dragging him to the ground.

“Spike!” Bumblebee hollered as Ravage sunk his teeth into Spike’s leg.

Frenzy and Rumble looked at each other.  Frenzy shrugged nonchalantly. “I told ‘em not to do anything stupid.” 

Spike felt himself start to sweat from the tremendous pain.  He gripped his injured leg, feebly hoping to free it from Ravage’s grip.  The cat growled lowly as Spike pushed against Ravage’s head. 

Bumblebee reached for his gun, but it bounced away as the first jarring pounds from Rumble’s pile drivers began to rhythmically beat the ground. Rumble increased the frequency of the beats until the seismic amplitude knocked the minibot off balance. Ravage spread his feet, lowering his body to steady himself as he kept a firm hold on Spike’s leg.

Frenzy trained his gun back on Bumblebee, who was now sprawled helplessly on the ground. Seeing that he had accomplished his objective, Rumble subspaced his pile drivers in exchange for his regular forearms and hands.  He glanced at the black car sitting idle next to the wall then looked over at his companion, who wore a crazy, twisted smile on his faceplate.  “I don’t get it.  Why doesn’t he transform?” Rumble puzzled as he anticipated that any moment the black car with the Autobot symbol on the back window would emerge into its robot form.  Rumble considered whether or not he should just go over and try to strike up a conversation with the still, black machine.  Maybe Megatron was right about this newcomer.  He certainly did not try to resist the Decepticons.

“Who cares,” Frenzy shrugged.  “Just makes our job easier.” 

The two cassetticons glanced over at Ravage and suppressed a laugh as they watched the cat tease the minibot with his human captive.  Ravage thrilled in stalking easy human prey whenever he got the chance, and had a knack for using his unusual catch to frustrate the Autobots.  Spike had gone white and his face appeared clammy. Red flecks dotted the floor beneath him.

Bumblebee remained frozen, Frenzy’s gun still trained on him.  Rumble ribbed his black and red companion. “Why don’t you blast his head off and we can get on with things.”

Frenzy snickered, gloating.  “In a minute, in a minute…Look at the expression on his faceplate!  Ha!”

Bumblebee lowered his head, defeated and hopeless, unable to rescue Spike. When he feebly lifted his head a moment later, his optics widened with elation. Ratchet was stealthily closing on the unsuspecting Decepticons from behind.  Gun trained at their backs, Ratchet winked to Bumblebee and then opened fire.

A well-placed shot blasted Frenzy in the shoulder joint of his weapon arm. Sparks erupted from the socket and the Decepticon looked down in dismay at his useless arm.  Rumble whirled around to receive a blast to the chestplate.  As Frenzy fled and Rumble crumpled to the floor, Ravage tensed to bolt.

From his hands and knees, Bumblebee leapt towards Ravage, trying to grab him.  The yellow minibot landed flat on his chestplate, the panther’s tail slipping smoothly out of this hand as he took Spike with him in his jaws.  Spike swore and contorted in the bone-breaking pain of the cat’s grip.

Growling with his head low, Ravage backed away from Bumblebee. Helpless, Spike let himself go limp in Ravage’s jaws. It seemed to minimize the pain, since the less he struggled, the less force Ravage used to clamp down on his leg.  He had no other choice, unless Bumblebee could free him.

 “You gotta help Spike!” Bumblebee hollered at Ratchet.

Ratchet unleashed a volley of fire at Ravage’s feet, hoping that he could make the Decepticon drop Spike and flee. Ravage wrestled the human in his teeth in challenge. Spike groaned as the world faded in and out of focus.

“Don’t shoot, you’ll hit Spike!” Bumblebee hollered again, realizing that it was too dangerous to fire at Ravage.  Arms outstretched, the minibot desperately blocked Ratchet’s aim with his own body. 

Ravage seized on the opportunity to bolt from the entranceway of the Ark and down the mountainside, dragging and bumping his prey unkindly over the rocks as he went.  Weary and in shock, Spike could no longer fight back. The growling Decepticon stopped fifty yards away and looked back triumphantly, enticing the two Autobots to chase him for the prize. 

“He’s taunting us!”  Ratchet observed incredulously.

“What choice do we have?” Bumblebee pleaded.

Thrilled to see that the Autobots had taken the bait and were playing into his game, Ravage bounded away, unceremoniously dragging Spike with the yellow minibot and medic in pursuit.

“Stop Ravage!” Ratchet yelled. Jazz spun around as the Decepticon cat leapt down through the break in the defenses left by Huffer.  Spike’s body dragged limply, his arms trailing behind. He was unconscious. Ravage stopped to negotiate a better grip on his prey before bolting again. 

“Bluestreak!”  Jazz ordered the silver gunner as he pointed at Ravage.

The sharpshooter swung his beam rifle around, clicked the setting over to narrow focus, and targeted the bounding Decepticon as he broke through the unsuspecting Autobot front line.  With a single shot, Bluestreak expertly struck the cat’s hindquarters below his hip-mounted heat-seeking missile. Ravage reflexively kicked out his injured leg in response to the jolt.

“It’s not stopping him,” Jazz frowned. The black and white Autobot opened a channel with the Autobot commander on the front line. “Prime, we’ve got a situation here.  Ravage has just dragged Spike into ‘Con territory. It doesn’t look good.  We’ve got a heavy firefight on our hands up here. Cannot pursue, repeat, cannot pursue.”

“I read you Jazz.  Hold your positions.  We’ll take care of it.” Prime surveyed the landscape and spotted the cat and Spike.  

Ravage limped past Mixmaster and Bonecrusher.  The two Constructicons closed the distance between them to protect the injured cat. Ravage reached Soundwave and dropped Spike at his feet the way a cat would drop a rodent.  The tall blue Decepticon nudged the unresponsive body with the tip of his foot.

Ravage lay down with Spike just beyond his front paws and stretched out his injured hind leg to the side to inspect the damage.

Soundwave turned to Megatron, who was firing on the Autobots with his deadly arm-mounted fusion cannon. The Decepticon leader fell back from his position to receive Soundwave’s news.

“Report, Soundwave.”

“Distraction complete, Megatron” Soundwave began, the pitch of his metallic drone shifting lower as he spoke. “We wait for Rumble and Frenzy to retrieve the Autobot defector.”

“Good, Soundwave,” Megatron praised. “Now that we have the Autobots’ attention, it is time we show them how powerful the Decepticons really are.”  An evil smile crept across his faceplate and he called to his troops. “Stunticons! Constructicons!  Join to form Menasor and Devastator!”

The four appendage Stunticons looked at each other in a moment of mutual contempt before combining to form the arms and legs of Menasor at Motormaster’s order. Scrapper commanded the other five Constructicons. “Constructicons, transform, phase one!”  The six Decepticons immediately transformed into their construction vehicle modes and drove toward each other. “Transform, phase two!”  Scrapper and Mixmaster configured themselves into Devastator’s legs, followed by Hook and Long Haul who formed up the body. Scavenger and Bonecrusher attached themselves to the torso to become the arms.  The transformation completed as Devastator’s head rose from the shoulders of the Constructicon monstrosity.  Devastator laughed deeply at the miniature Autobots before him.

“Uh-oh,” Ironhide said on the Autobot lines, “we’ve got trouble.”

“Double trouble – look!” Hound called out as he pointed at Menasor. The second giant approached from behind Devastator. “Prime, what do we do about two giants?  We’re no match for both of them.”

Hound was right, Optimus Prime realized. They were no match for the two giant robots. Fortunately, the heavy barrage of Decepticon fire was significantly reduced with the appearance of Devastator and Menasor . They would be able to mobilize a counterattack in an attempt to capture ground and retrieve Spike.   The Autobot commander addressed the leader of the Dinobots across the battlefield, far to his left. “Grimlock! Attack Devastator!”

“Me, Grimlock, don’t need to be told what to do,” the Dinobot leader retorted arrogantly before commanding the other Dinobots. “Dinobots, transform!”

Following Grimlock’s lead, Slag, Snarl and Sludge transformed into their dinosaur modes. Grimlock’s gravelly roar signaled the attack and, thundering loudly, he led the others into battle against Devastator, his crushing jaws lined with dagger-like teeth opened and ready for the onslaught. Slag lowered his three great silver horns and pawed the ground before breaking into a deadly charge against the giant. Snarl beat his tail on the ground as if it were a war drum as his golden spines glinted brilliantly in the sunlight, charging.   He then swung his back end heavily around to face the goliath and channeled the magnificent solar heat at Devastator through his tail spikes.  The sizzling blast rippled through the surrounding air and exploded against Devastator with molten potential.

Swoop transformed into his pterodactyl form and took to the air, wheeling around the Constructicon giant’s head.  He angled his chrome plated wings to direct the sun’s rays into Devastator’s optics, temporarily blinding him, while Swoop’s companions began to work Devastator off his feet with sheer brute force.  Devastator angrily swept his arms through the air at the Dinobot nuisance. 

“Concentrate firepower on Menasor! Try to find a weak spot.”  With every available Autobot directing the attack on the two Decepticon combiner teams, Prime turned his attention to the twins, who had managed to get a hold of Thundercracker after he had been tossed forward from the defensive perimeter. Sunstreaker, standing behind the blue Seeker, had one foot in the jet’s back, wrenching his arms severely behind him.  Sideswipe held the Decepticon in a head lock and was beating several nice dents into his faceplate with his fist.

“Sunstreaker!  Sideswipe!  I need you to rescue Spike from behind Decepticon lines.”

Upon hearing Prime’s order, Sideswipe narrowed his optics and engaged the pile driver of his free arm, looking down at the defeated Seeker in his grip. “Let’s finish this.” Sunstreaker howled with glee at the sound of shattering optics as his brother drove the pile driver into Thundercracker’s faceplate. “Get out of here, slagger” Sideswipe hissed at the Decepticon and let go as the yellow warrior thrust the jet forward with a heave from his foot.

Thundercracker thudded to the ground, face first.  He raised his crippled body wearily and shook his head, blinded. Arms outstretched, he struck out using all other functioning sensors to find his way back to the other Decepticons.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe transformed and fearlessly raced across the battlefield toward the Decepticons. They wildly swerved the blasts aimed at them, enjoying the thrill of the challenge, and crossed enemy lines. Revving at top speed to gain as much momentum as possible, Sideswipe transformed at the last second and launched himself at Soundwave, taking the stunned Decepticon to the ground with a tremendous crash.  Sunstreaker spun his tires, skidding to dodge Menasor’s foot, and raced crazily past several dumbfounded Decepticons before skidding to a sideways stop, several feet from Spike.  He raised his passenger side gull-wing door.  Sideswipe recovered himself and hurried toward his brother and Spike.  Ravage growled and limped away from the yellow Autobot.

“Such foolish bravery,” Megatron grinned and aimed at the red warrior, the closer of the two Autobots. 

“Sideswipe, lookout!” Sunstreaker yelled.

At that moment, a shot from a familiar ion blaster struck the Decepticon leader and Megatron’s arm cannon clanked to the ground.  Sideswipe turned and looked in the direction of the blast to see Optimus Prime covering him.  He saluted his leader then raced over to Spike. Soundwave started to pick himself up. 

Sideswipe looked down at Spike’s broken body.  Where the lower part of the pant leg was shredded, his leg appeared red and broken. Spike was bruised and unconscious and his face was swollen. Sideswipe gingerly picked him up, laid him on Sunstreaker’s reclined seat and buckled him in.  Poor Spike had seen enough action today.

“How is he?” the yellow warrior inquired.

“Not good.” Sideswipe replied flatly, looking at the red stains left on his hands. “He needs to get to a hospital, quickly.”

“Then let’s get out of here!” Sunstreaker exclaimed, shutting his door.  Sideswipe transformed and the two brothers tore back across the battlefield under the protection of Optimus Prime’s cover fire.

Menasor was very close to the Autobot front line.  Hearing them coming, he turned and aimed his foot to squash the Lamborghinis as they passed below his towering bulk.  Sunstreaker revved his engine and peeled away.  Sideswipe braked suddenly and swerved to avoid Menasor’s looming foot.  He spun his tires, looking for purchase, but fishtailed as he hit some loose gravel.  The huge foot pounded him, crushing and twisting his back end, busting his tires and shattering his tail lights.

“Sunny!” Sideswipe cried in desperation, unable to move or transform. 

Sunstreaker circled around and drew Menasor’s attention away from his crippled brother.  He was unable to transform and help Sideswipe since Spike was unconscious inside of him.  As he revved his engine for another pass around Menasor, Optimus Prime leapt into the fray. The Autobot leader reached down and grabbed the broken red warrior under one arm.  Menasor lunged at Prime as he dashed toward safety, but the Stunticon giant was too slow.

“Thank Primus,” the yellow Lamborghini sighed and sped up the hillside toward Ratchet and Bumblebee, who waited helplessly to hear of Spike’s condition. Sunstreaker slowed carefully so as not to subject Spike to a significant decelerating force then opened his gull-wing door. 

“Ratchet, you need to get him to a hospital, quickly!”

Ratchet and Bumblebee jumped when they saw Spike laying unconscious in the Lamborghini.  Ratchet was an expert unmatched in repairing Autobots, but he was unable to do anything to heal Spike. Spike needed a human doctor. Ratchet opened a communication line to Optimus Prime and urgently requested cover so that he could get Spike out of there and back to human civilization. 

The Autobot commander surveyed the action on the battlefield and looked back up the hillside at Ratchet in the distance. “Negative,” he answered reluctantly. “We don’t have enough forces to cover you all the way to the nearest city and defend our base. You’ll have to wait until we can force the Decepticons to retreat.”

It was an answer that Bumblebee did not want to hear.  He looked at Ratchet with panic.  “What do we do?”

“You need to get him out of me,” Sunstreaker spoke.  “He’s bleeding all over my leather interior.”

“Bumblebee, I’ll take Spike somewhere safe.” Ratchet said.  The red and white Autobot stepped back, transformed into his ambulance form, and opened his rear door. At a loss for anything else to say or do, Bumblebee unbuckled Spike and carried his friend into the back of the ambulance. He set Spike down as carefully as he could then closed Ratchet’s door. Behind them, Sunstreaker’s tires crunched as the yellow warrior fishtailed in a sharp turn, churning up a spray of dirt and rocks, and raced back down the hill to his brother.

“I’ll go with you.”  Bumblebee announced as he started to transform, but Ratchet interjected.

“Bumblebee, one of us needs to stay here to guard the entranceway. I’ll call Wheeljack. He can help me with Spike.” Wheeljack had couriered one load of munitions to Jazz already and sped back into the Ark only moments before Sunstreaker had arrived.

Feeling small and helpless, Bumblebee watched as Ratchet drove down the causeway into the base, his emergency lights flickering red against the reflective, coppery walls. He was distressed that he had taken Spike into the path of danger, and worried that his fragile human friend might not survive his injuries.

Meanwhile, Frenzy stopped and looked back every hundred yards or so to check that Rumble was still behind him and that they were not being followed.  His arm, with paralyzed fist still seizing the gun, swung heavily at his side.  With only one gun and one good arm left the small Decepticon had to be sure he had backup in case he encountered any Autobot trouble on the way back to Soundwave. They had disappeared into the woods and were making their way back to the Decepticon front line.

“Stop lookin’ at me!” Rumble finally snapped.  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Just keep runnin’.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” the other Decepticon fretted.  “It’s that black Autobot. M-Maybe he’s comin’ after us.”

“Yeah?”  Rumble considered.  “Then you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, ‘cause he ain’t comin’ with us.” Rumble worried about what would happen to them when Megatron learned that they had been unsuccessful in bringing the Autobot back with them. He ran through possible excuses that they could use.

Back deep inside the Ark, Ratchet pulled into the Autobot medical bay. Wheeljack, who had transferred the role of munitions courier to Cliffjumper, was waiting for him. Ratchet turned and backed up slowly toward Wheeljack, then lifted his rear door.

“Primus!” Wheeljack exclaimed, narrowing his optics in a squint, as he took a first look at Spike. “What happened?”

“It was Ravage.  Bumblebee and Spike were ambushed at the front entrance.”

“What was he doing up there? And weren’t you supposed to be guarding the entranceway with Bumblebee?”  Wheeljack asked his friend.

“I had to stabilize Huffer, who had taken a hit to his central energon storage chamber casing. I was only gone for a few minutes and when I came back Ravage, Rumble and Frenzy had shown up.”

“Why those little…” Wheeljack began to curse, but Ratchet interrupted.

“It was my fault.  I should have been at my post.  Huffer could have waited a little longer and this wouldn’t have happened.”

Wheeljack grunted an incomprehensible reply as he carefully lifted Spike out and set the limp body on one of the Autobot-sized repair tables. The overhead medical bay lights caused a swollen lump on the side of his head to stand out in sharp relief.

“That’s one nasty bump,” the engineer stated.  Ratchet transformed and approached to take a better look. Wheeljack tenderly touched Spike’s head around the perimeter of the injured spot.  The flesh did not spring back from his delicate touch. “That’s not good, is it?”

“’Jack,” Ratchet looked soberly at his friend.

“You don’t need to say it,” Wheeljack interjected. “I know.”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Ratchet crossed one arm and leaned his face against his other fist.  Neither knew how much longer the battle would continue outside, and they were stuck in the Ark until the situation changed. The nearest hospital where Spike could get help was perhaps two hours away.  Neither knew whether Spike could last through the end of the battle and endure the long ride afterwards. Wheeljack crossed his arms and rubbed his mask, searching for an idea. Noticing a red trickle growing across the table from underneath Spike’s leg, Ratchet grabbed a greasy cloth and began to wipe it up.

Ratchet looked closely at Spike’s broken leg, not recognizing the structure of organic parts.  He would have been able to make sense of it if it had been a busted robot leg.  For the first time, the Autobot chief medical officer understood the helplessness that Autobots must have felt while they worried and waited for their injured friends.  He wanted to offer some assistance, however trivial.  “I could hook him up to my equipment to monitor his life signs.”

Wheeljack looked up at Ratchet from deep in thought. The engineer knew that monitoring his life signs would not help Spike, but it would not hurt him either, and it would help Ratchet feel like he was doing something. Wheeljack snapped his fingers. The sharp noise surprised Ratchet. “Yeah, do that,” said Wheeljack.  “I’ll be back.”

Without an explanation, Wheeljack ran from the medical bay over to his workshop. Thank Primus I don’t throw things away. He jogged quickly from one area of the workshop to another, searching through piles of old machinery and parts gathering dust.

“Aha!” He held up the equipment he was looking for and shook off the dust.  Wheeljack wound the loose wires around the fingers of the hand that held the bowl-shaped device under his arm, then jogged over to his workbench and picked up his tools and another of his prized pieces of equipment that he needed.  He shook his head once with gusto at the delightful thought of being able to make the difference.

When Wheeljack returned to the medical bay, Ratchet had Spike connected up to a monitor. Ratchet was simplifying the display by removing the code for Autobot functions and adding a means of interpreting the basic human vital signs that he knew were important from watching TV on Teletraan-1.  The chief medical officer glanced up and did a double take when he recognized the equipment that Wheeljack was carrying.

“You can’t be serious,” Ratchet said with disbelief.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Wheeljack retorted, adding, “They don’t call me the mad scientist around here for nothin’. An’ this is gonna work.”

The engineer placed each piece he was carrying, one by one, on the end of the repair table above Spike’s head.  He pulled up a seat and quickly began to connect the pieces together.

Ratchet stopped what he was doing when he realized Wheeljack’s plan. “I don’t think that this is a good idea.”  He hunched over, moving into Wheeljack’s field of vision as the engineer hovered over his equipment with single-minded intensity.

Wheeljack put down the tool in his hand and sat up straight. “We both know that Spike’s on borrowed time here.  I think we should be ready to save him, our way, if we can’t get human medical attention in time.”  Wheeljack picked up the mind transfer device that the Autobots had used to save Spike’s life once before and, carefully cradling Spike’s injured head in his large hand, slid the bowl-shaped device underneath. 

Ratchet stared at the monitor in front of him, ruminating. “Does Spike want this?”  Ratchet looked over to meet Wheeljack’s gaze.

Wheeljack paused and looked down at Spike with a rare expression of sadness in his optics. “Between alive and dead, I think he’d choose to be alive.  Look, I won’t do it unless he starts to shut down on his own.”

Ratchet weighed the alternatives.  He was not sure that Spike would be happy about being a robot. He remembered the Autobot X incident all too clearly.  Spike’s mind had been temporarily transferred to a robot body years ago. Perhaps Spike’s bad reaction was partly due to initial shock and partly due to the fact that Autobot X’s brain was put together by a human. Spike’s father, Sparkplug, was handy with a set of tools and some Autobot parts, but his attempt to build an entire Autobot, one that met Ratchet’s high standards, was beyond his abilities. Ratchet grimaced.  He and Wheeljack were experts and could put together a body that worked well, one that did not look like it had just crawled out of the scrap heap.

On the other hand, Ratchet would miss Spike if he was not around anymore.  So would Bumblebee and many of the other Autobots.  Sparkplug would not want him to die, either.  Sparkplug had even supported the decision to use Autobot X for Spike’s first mind transfer. Ratchet narrowed his optics as he thought everything through. Of course, Sparkplug would be very surprised if Spike was saved without a vacant robot body for him to inhabit.  The Spark Cell was a nearly miraculous alternative to death.

Ratchet nodded and returned to reprogramming the diagnostics equipment.  Spike’s heart rate and brain functioning appeared on the screen, pulsing regularly. He did not have any way to meaningfully interpret Spike’s vitals.

“Can you actually get the mind transfer device and the Spark Cell to work together?” Ratchet inquired out of the blue, still focused on the screen in front of him.

A moment passed while Wheeljack continued his work.  “Sure.  I just have to reconfigure them.  Can you lend me a station and another monitor?”  Wheeljack was confident of his ability. Chances were that the engineer had already considered the crazy idea and devised a mental scheme for how it could be made to work.  Ratchet pointed to a console and monitor cluster sitting idle on the other side of the next repair table. Wheeljack brought the machine over and wired in the devices.

The heart line on the screen in front of Ratchet began to jump erratically as the signal became irregular. He turned to check that the probes were attached properly and glanced back at the screen as he adjusted them.  They were not the source of the problem, so Ratchet checked the connections into the equipment.

“Uh-oh,” Wheeljack’s lamps flashed blue out the corner of his optics.  Ratchet looked back at the engineer, astonished. 

“What?”

“Ratchet, I think he’s dying.”

With wide optics Ratchet realized what should have been obvious. “Do something!” the chief medical officer pleaded.

Wheeljack looked down at the sprawl of wires, tools and equipment in front of him. “I’m not done yet.”   

Ratchet wrung his hands and began to pace impatiently next to Wheeljack, guiltily cursing himself for leaving his post to tend to Huffer. 

Wheeljack struggled to complete the mind transfer circuit. Since it was designed to easily interface and receive a spark from standard Autobot circuitry, the Spark Cell portion was ready. He still needed to reconnect the mind transfer leads since he had removed two of the terminal blocks for another project.  The tool bit he held in his hand snapped off just as he tried to insert it.

“Fraggin’ Pit!”  he cursed emphatically and immediately grabbed a new tool bit from the kit opened next to him. The next one slid easily into place.

Spike’s heart line wobbled aimlessly.  Ratchet stopped and stared, dumbstruck. “Should we be performing CPR on him?”

Wheeljack tried not to let Ratchet’s question interrupt him. He had watched some TV shows with Ratchet and seen the procedure done before.  “I’m not sure how well that’ll work with that head wound slowing him down.  Besides, have you thought about how you’d give him the mouth-to-mouth part?”

Ratchet sank.  Autobots did not breathe, so that idea was definitely out.  For a panicked instant he considered looking around for some other way to create an artificial breath. He clenched his fist in frustration. He did not have anything, and he realized that he did not know how the chest massage was supposed to work, either. 

As he rested his elbows against the console, Ratchet slowly lowered his head against his fingertips, mouth agape. There was nothing he could do... nothing.  Even if Prime called at that instant and told him that he could take Spike to the hospital, it was too late.  All he could do was sit there and watch Spike die. Unbelievable. 

Several multicolored lights flashed in his peripheral vision.  He raised his gaze to observe Spike’s failing vital signs. He watched every jagged heart tick: three, two, one... and then nothing. The flat line surprised him when it finally happened.

“Wheeljack…”

Wheeljack glanced up and regarded the monitor. The area around Spike’s eyes had developed a darkened color since he had been laid down in the medical bay. His face was slack.  Wheeljack looked over the completed mind transfer circuit before him and read the verification symbols on the screen.  Now was the moment. He executed the initiation sequence to activate the circuit, but nothing happened.  “It should work!” he protested.  

Ratchet slumped forward and pressed the chevron on his helmet into his hand. “Should it?” he mumbled dejectedly.

Wheeljack quickly surveyed the equipment layout then shook his head. Ratchet jumped as Wheeljack’s fist crashed loudly against the side of the machinery. The verification code blinked on Wheeljack’s monitor. For a moment everything was still. Then the air around the mind transfer helmet began to gently distort.  Wheeljack stood up over his chair and leaned over to check that his optics were not deceiving him.

The orb of air surrounding Spike’s head developed an eerie iridescent glow as the bowl-shaped helmet slowly absorbed the diffuse human life force, focusing it into a spark as a mirror in a telescope focuses rays of light to a point.  Ratchet watched in awe. Not that he doubted Wheeljack’s Spark Cell invention, but there it was, actually working.  The indicator light on the Spark Cell began to blink intermittently as the spark was channeled into the device.

Wheeljack was transfixed by the machinery, excited to see his invention working. It was an unfortunate event that led to this moment, but everyone would stand to gain because of his Spark Cell.  He was saving Spike.  Maybe now Prime and Prowl would believe that the device worked. He scanned the readout on the monitor. “Almost finished...”

Ratchet pivoted and observed Spike’s skin fading to a dull pallor as the Spark Cell completed its task.  He did not look forward to explaining Spike’s condition to Sparkplug.

The distorted sphere around the mind control helmet subtly changed to a deeper hue.  A beautiful pattern, similar to the shimmer of a soap bubble, emerged across its ethereal surface. Wheeljack looked down as the light on the Spark Cell stopped blinking and registered a steady glow, indicating that the process was complete.  Stunned by his own genius, he kicked the chair out from underneath him, nearly tripping on it as one of its legs caught on his own.  He balanced clumsily as if overcharged.  “It works,” he muttered to himself, incredulous.  “It works!” He swung his fist victoriously in the air.

The ethereal orb around the helmet diffused, leaving several sparkles of lavender light in its wake as the mind transfer circuit powered down. Spike’s body was exceedingly still.

“I guess we should tell Prime,” Ratchet conceded, leaning his elbow against the edge of the console, his chin in his palm. He wondered how they were going to break the news.

Wheeljack raised his forearm before him and wasted no time opening a channel to Optimus Prime on the battlefield.  The image of Prime emerged on Wheeljack’s forearm communicator.

“What is it, Wheeljack?” the Autobot leader requested, distracted by the fighting around him.

“Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

“Give me the bad news.”

Wheeljack paused, realizing there was no good way to break the news to Optimus.  “I’m in the medical bay, and, well…it’s Spike. He didn’t make it.”

Wheeljack had his whole attention now. “Oh no…” the Autobot leader responded softly. 

“But, it’s not all bad, Optimus,” Wheeljack interrupted the uncomfortable silence as Prime processed the information.

Prime had surprisingly little to say, which unnerved Wheeljack.  Nevertheless, he kept his focus on the upside.  “You should really see this for yourself.”

Prime closed off the channel with Wheeljack and gazed out at the battlefield, staring at the ragged images struggling and fighting all around him. He noticed two small figures emerge out of the trees behind Decepticon lines and disappear behind one of the clusters of rock shielding the enemy from Autobot fire.

“Tell him, maybe… the Autobot just fired at us,” Frenzy said as he turned and shrugged at Rumble.  He slowed to wait for his companion to catch up. That explanation would at least explain their injuries and suggest that the Autobot did not want to join the Decepticons. 

“I ain’t telling Megatron that,” Rumble replied defiantly, reminded of Thundercracker sweeping low over the entrance to the Autobot base and the other Seekers strafing the front lines, “You never know who was watchin’ us up there. Besides, I got a better idea.”

Frenzy stumbled as he emerged from the thick of trees with Rumble right on his heels.  The two small Decepticons hurried over behind the rock shelter to Soundwave and Megatron.

Megatron looked displeased to say the least. “Rumble, Frenzy. Where is the Autobot you were supposed to bring back with you.”  The Decepticon leader hovered over them. His voice growled, suggesting that they had better have a good answer.

Rumble stepped in front of Frenzy, pushing him aside.  “We found the Autobot, but it just sat there and didn’t transform and fight or nothin’. Maybe it was some sort of decoy.”  He stared up at his huge leader, anxiously waiting for Megatron’s reaction, and hoping not to receive the barrel of his arm cannon.

Megatron eyed the two suspiciously.  “Are you sure?” he asked slyly. “I notice you two do not return entirely functional.”

Frenzy realized that he had better play into Rumble’s scheme if he wanted to remain functional.  “Rumble’s right, Megatron,” he eagerly supported Rumble. “It must have been some sort of decoy.”

Megatron raised himself up again, glaring at the two small Decepticons out of corner of his optics, and not entirely believing Soundwave’s minions.  “What do you have to say about this, Reflector?”  Megatron called to his master spy.

The triplets flinched. A potentially enraged Megatron was a more threatening foe than all the Autobots put together. “M-Megatron…” Reflector pleaded in unison, all three raising their hands defensively. “I wouldn’t lie to you.  I saw the Autobot symbol.”

Starscream heard the exchange and could not help but interject his opinion.  “Maybe your Autobot is just the boy’s car, Mighty Megatron.” The surly aerial commander shot the Decepticon leader a look of contempt.

Megatron scowled.  “Starscream, you fool!  Again, you prove you know nothing about leading the Decepticons. You wouldn’t recognize recruits if they were raining from the sky.”  He narrowed his optics and shot the unruly Decepticon a backward glance as he turned away.

Something was wrong with Rumble’s and Frenzy’s story.  Megatron trusted Reflector’s surveillance more than the two cassetticon’s occasional incompetence. Megatron suspected that cowardice had more to do with why they had come back alone.  Rumble and Frenzy probably did not even get close to the Autobot.  He considered the options at hand.

Devastator was locked in a fierce stalemate with the Dinobots. Neither side was making ground.  Grimlock’s jaws had pulled off Devastator’s arm by the crawler bucket.   Swoop lay pinned by a bent wing underneath the front end loader bucket of Devastator’s right foot, helplessly kicking his pterodactyl feet and flapping the end of his other wing. Snarl had transformed back into robot mode after losing several golden spines when Devastator had hurled him against the mountainside.  Grimlock and Sludge lashed their tails at the legs of the giant in a dual attempt to knock Devastator off balance and rescue Swoop. The Constructicon giant was wasting precious energon.

Menasor had fallen in disarray.  After becoming overwhelmed by heavy Autobot fire, Dead End disengaged himself from Motormaster and toppled Menasor. Defeated, the other Stunticons transformed and ran for cover.

The Decepticon leader gazed angrily across the battlefield at his Autobot adversary, Optimus Prime. There was no further use in engaging the Autobots. Megatron would find another opportunity to contact the newcomer, perhaps in a neutral setting. He could wait.

“Decepticons!” Megatron shouted to his forces. “Retreat!”   

As Devastator bent over to pick up his dismembered arm, he looked over at Megatron, astonished.  The towering giant begrudgingly obeyed and broke apart into his six constituent parts.  Skywarp and Starscream retrieved Thundercracker and carried the injured Decepticon away with them into the sky. The Stunticons followed the other Decepticons, led by Megatron and Soundwave, in a full scale aerial retreat back to Decepticon headquarters.

“Next time, Prime,” the Decepticon leader scowled at his adversary as he departed.

“They’re retreating!” Prowl observed, surprised as he watched the Decepticons flee.

“Let them go!” Prime commanded everyone. “We have more serious matters to attend to.”

Several Autobots hurled insults at the Decepticons and attempted shots at the backs of the retreating enemy, however the Decepticons gained distance quickly and were out of range to land a blow.

With the battle at a close, the Autobots collected their injured and wearily made their way back to the Ark. Prime transformed and carried Mirage and Sidewipe back into the base in his trailer, along with Sunstreaker, who refused to let his brother out of his sight for a second.  Snarl gathered his broken spines in his hands and trudged back up the mountainside, along with Swoop who also transformed back into robot mode and nursed his broken wing. Jazz helped Huffer to steady himself as he stood up.

At the bottom of the Ark causeway, Hoist attached his tow line and lifted Sideswipe’s twisted back end up into the air then pulled him from Prime’s trailer into the medical bay. Grapple looked into Mirage’s dark optics and carried the limp Autobot under his knees and back.  Prowl shadowed Prime, who transformed into robot mode and followed the injured Autobots to the medical bay. Wheeljack and Ratchet were waiting there.

Bumblebee was already there in medical bay, sick with sadness, as he hovered over one of the repair tables. Ratchet stood behind the minibot, patting him on the back and consoling him. Wheeljack had been unable to get a word in edgewise.

Optimus Prime came up silently behind the chief medical officer and the minibot and observed Spike’s lifeless body lying on the repair table. Prime’s joints slackened.  “Spike…”  The Autobots had failed to protect their human friend. “I’m so sorry.”

Prowl looked upon Spike’s body with shock. With stunned silence, Grapple laid Mirage down on the next repair table. Hoist backed Sideswipe in to an open section of the medical bay and unhitched himself from the Lamborghini.  Leaking hydraulic fluid trailed Sideswipe from Prime’s trailer and began to slowly collect in a puddle underneath the Lamborghini’s broken back end.

Sunstreaker looked down at Spike’s body as he passed by the repair table toward the red warrior. “Ouch.”

Bumblebee spread his arms to steady himself against the repair table and lowered his head between his shoulders.

Ratchet stepped back to let Prime in closer. The Autobot leader looked to Ratchet and Wheeljack for an explanation of the events.

“Prime,” Ratchet offered, lowering his head with guilt. “It was my fault.  I was supposed to be with Bumblebee defending the entrance and I left my post to tend to Huffer.”  Bumblebee raised his head and, mouth agape with grief, listened to the chief medical officer. “Ravage was able to get to Spike because I wasn’t there.”

“Ratchet, you can’t take all the blame,” Bumblebee interjected.  “I wasn’t able to stop Rumble and Frenzy, either.”

“It was three on one, Bumblebee,” Ratchet argued in Bumblebee’s defense.

“All of us failed,” Optimus Prime whispered. The medical bay fell silent.

Wheeljack cleared his vocalizer. “Prime, I haven’t told you the good news yet.” He stepped forward and extended a hand to reveal the Spark Cell.

A red telltale light glowed on the device. Prime regarded the mind transfer helmet. Suddenly remembering it, he followed the wiring back to the equipment and monitoring station that Wheeljack had been seated when he entered the medical bay. The Autobot leader’s optics grew wide in amazement and disbelief.

“I used the mind transfer device to convert Spike’s awareness into a spark,” the engineer continued. Everyone turned to look at him with surprise.  “Spike has a second chance.”

“What?” Bumblebee made a gasping sound with his vocalizer. He looked down at the body then straightened, hope returning to his optics.

Ratchet nodded to Bumblebee in agreement.

“I can build a new body for him…” Wheeljack explained to Optimus Prime.  “…and download him into it, and he can have a new life.”

But Bumblebee recalled the mind transfer that Spike had gone through several years ago had caused him to go mad in a robot body.  “What if it doesn’t work?”

Wheeljack faced Bumblebee solemnly.  “We can take precautions, Bumblebee.  But the way things stand, Spike has only one other alternative to this.”

The Autobot leader cupped his battle mask in one hand and lowered his optics, thinking.  “Wheeljack, I’d like to talk to you…alone.”

“Sure.”

Prime acknowledged the chief medical officer.  “Ratchet, take Spike’s body to the nearest hospital so that the humans can pay their respects. Prowl will accompany you.  This must be dealt with now.  I will contact Sparkplug myself.”

“Wheeljack, can you give me a hand?” Ratchet requested, then transformed and opened his rear door. 

Wheeljack slipped the mind transfer helmet out from underneath Spike’s head and carefully lifted his body.  Spike’s body was very loose now and didn’t resist the forces applied to it. Wheeljack laid him down inside of Ratchet and strapped him in securely for the ride back to human civilization.  As a last gesture, he turned Spike’s head to the side as if he were only resting. Stooped over with his hand on the top of Ratchet’s raised hatch door, he paused to silently say goodbye.  Then he pressed the door firmly closed and stood up.

Prowl transformed into his police car mode and started his engine.

“I’m going with you, too.” Bumblebee piped in and transformed into his Volkswagen Bug form.

Prime took a step backward and allowed the three Autobots to leave.

Sunstreaker looked about the room, dismayed that the only doctor had just left.  “What about Sides?”

“I’m sure Ratchet won’t be gone too long, and Hoist and Grapple can get started in the meantime,” Prime explained. “Wheeljack will be back soon and will also tend to the wounded.” The Autobot commander looked down at Wheeljack and motioned toward the door. Wheeljack led the way from the medical bay.

Once the bay doors closed behind them, Prime clasped his hands behind his back and slowly led them down a less traveled passageway for privacy.  He narrowed his optic ridges, focusing with concern.

“Wheeljack,” he evenutally stopped and faced the engineer. “I’m concerned about your actions today. I’m worried that you didn’t have Spike’s best interests in mind.”

Wheeljack was shocked. “What do you mean?”

“You used your Spark Cell invention to further your own personal agenda.” 

Stunned by Prime’s accusation, Wheeljack chuckled mirthlessly. “I saved Spike, Prime.”  He pressed his hand against his chest to legitimize himself. 

“We don’t know what has become of Spike now.”

Wheeljack pulled himself together defensively. “All I did was focus his life force into a spark, like we did several years ago to save his life, and transfer it into the Spark Cell for safe keeping until a new body can be built.”

Prime shook his head, ruefully.

“There was nothing else we could do,” Wheeljack explained in his own defense.  “Spike died because of his injuries, not because of me.  I certainly didn’t speed anything up – ask Ratchet if you don’t believe me.”

Prime placed his hands on his hip plates and stared off down the corridor. An uncomfortable minute passed before the tall Autobot leader gazed back down at the engineer again.  “This is a difficult situation.” 

“What’s wrong Prime? Spike’s safe in my Spark Cell.”

“We don’t know what is in your Spark Cell.”

Wheeljack looked down, seeing Prime’s point. It was true that he had not tested the Spark Cell before using it. He believed in his own abilities, but unfortunately Prime and Prowl did not believe without proof.

He looked up at the towering Autobot leader in front of him and made one last attempt to clear himself. “Prime, given the circumstances, allow me to build a body. I’ll transfer the spark into it, and we can see for ourselves whether or not I was able to save Spike.  And if I’m wrong…?” Wheeljack looked away. “Well, then Spike’s in no worse state.”  He shook his head in dismay.  After having come up with a ground-breaking invention and then realizing it could be used to save Spike’s life, Prime was suggesting he was acting below Autobot standards.  He surrendered to the futility of his predicament and accepted Prime’s judgment.

Prime regarded Wheeljack’s response. He was concerned that there was indeed a worse state that Spike could be in as a robot. Everyone knew that Spike had gone mad  in the body of Autobot X and, in a worse case scenario if he went mad again, they could lose him to the Decepticons. If Spike had survived the process and did exist in the Spark Cell, it was not fair to let him linger forever, forgotten, in a shelved invention.

Prime would have to tell Sparkplug that Spike had passed away, but that there may be a slim hope that Wheeljack’s device had worked.  It would be a difficult conversation. He could not guarantee the outcome of the spark download. After considering the alternatives, there was one reasonable course of action to take.

“You may build a body, Wheeljack,” the Autobot leader responded, “but you are not to equip it with any weapons or firepower.  If Spike survived, we don’t want him to initiate a fire fight that would put him at risk of being fired at by others out of self defense.”

Wheeljack could read between the lines.  Although Prime was not saying it, he did not want to encounter any trouble in shutting down a rogue Autobot if the spark download did not work. “Thank you, Prime.  I appreciate your concern.  I’ll make the best out of this that I can.”

Prime focused his attention sternly on the engineer. “I want to be updated regularly on your progress, and to be involved in any critical decision making.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, Prime.”   

“That’s an order, Wheeljack.”

Prime turned and walked away.  After a moment, Wheeljack headed back to the medical bay to carry out assist with repairs as Optimus Prime had also ordered him. The lineup of Autobots waiting for repairs had grown. Grapple had Swoop’s wing in the jaws of the three point bending press and was massaging out the kinks and Hoist was sealing up Huffer’s ruptured chestplate. They both looked up as Wheeljack returned.

“Phew,” the engineer sighed through his vocalizer as he reached one arm casually behind his head.  “Glad that’s over.”

Sunstreaker had pulled up a chair next to his brother and leaned on his elbows, visibly concerned. At the sight of Wheeljack he instantly sat up and rolled his optics. “At least someone’s back who knows how to do something!”  Grapple and Hoist looked at each other, not amused by the rude comment, but shrugged it off.

Wheeljack approached the bench where he had left the Spark Cell and adjusted its position. He did not want to cause any more concern for Prime.  Admittedly, there was a better chance of some catastrophe occurring in his workshop than in the medical bay, so he would ask Ratchet to look after the Spark Cell until he needed it for the download.  He drummed his fingers on top of the table, recounting the recent events.

“Hey, can we get some attention over here?!” Sunstreaker called in a surly tone. “Sides is hurt bad!”

Wheeljack looked up out of deep reflection.  “Yeah.” He went over to Hoist and put his hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “When you’ve got a moment, can you bring Spike’s car down to my workshop?”

“Why do you want his car there?” the green maintenance Autobot inquired politely.

Wheeljack shook his head once and relaxed his frame. “Now’s not a good time to get into a detailed explanation.  There’s some work I need to do on it.”

Hoist was surprised, but acquiesced. “Whatever I can do to assist.”

Not impressed by the continued medical bay wait, Sunstreaker stood up. In a big motion using both arms to catch Wheeljack’s attention, he pointed to his brother still stuck as a Lamborghini on the floor. “Here?!” he commanded Wheeljack with a big frown.

“Yeah, yeah,” the engineer trudged over to Sideswipe.  “It’s been a bad day for me, too.”  He stood in front of the red Lamborghini with both fists firmly on his hip plates.  “Back end doesn’t look good.  Sideswipe, can you transform?”

“If I could, I would have by now,” the red warrior replied impatiently.  “Do you think I’m enjoying being stuck like this?”

“He’s leaking hydraulic fluid everywhere,” Sunstreaker added.

“I can see that. First, we’re going to have to cut your back end in half up the middle to free your legs.”

“Is that going to hurt him?” the yellow warrior inquired with wide optics.

“Don’t worry,” Wheeljack consoled. “It’s going to get better, not worse.”

Sunstreaker noticeably relaxed.  Wheeljack took out a cutting torch and proceeded to flame cut a swath along the top and bottom lengths of the twisted back end of the red Lamborghini. An ugly burned scar laced the inside edges of Sideswipe’s legs as he pried them apart.

“It’s not pretty, but it works.  We can always rebuild your legs later.” Wheeljack turned off the cutting torch. “Now, can you transform?”

Sideswipe groaned, trying to lift himself off the floor. His squashed legs clunked and ground as parts inside resisted movement, but they managed to complete the process, however his upper half got stuck half way. He lowered himself back down on the floor, transforming his upper half fully back into vehicle mode.  “Nope.”

Wheeljack stood back, crossed his arms and massaged his mask as he thought about the possible causes of the malfunction.  The yellow warrior straightened in his chair, horrified that Wheeljack apparently seemed not to know what to do. 

“That’s not what Ratchet would do in a situation like this,” Sunstreaker chided. The chief medical officer certainly had that Autobot touch that made a ‘bot feel like he was in good hands.

Wheeljack dropped his arms and addressed the yellow warrior. “Slaggit, Sunny, I’m an engineer, not a doctor.” He placed his hand on one hip plate and drew the upper cam and linkage configuration in the air in front of him with his finger.  “Oh, I know!”

Wheeljack knelt down next to Sideswipe and unfastened the vehicle interior compartment.  He pried it back a crack at the edge nearest the hood and slid his hand beneath it, lifting the compartment away so that he could get a good look at the cam shaft assembly connecting to the transformation linkages running throughout Sideswipe’s torso.  “Aha! Just what I thought!”

“What is it?” the red warrior asked, sounding worried.

Wheeljack reached his other hand into Sideswipe’s chassis and pulled out a dripping clot of grey material and hung it in the air for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to see.  “Cylinder packing got blown up into one of your cam prox switches and was telling it there was no where for the main torso linkage to go.” 

Sunstreaker shook his head, not comprehending the technical explanation.

Wheeljack replaced the vehicle interior compartment and fastened it back down. He stood up and backed away from Sideswipe.  “Now try transforming.”

The red warrior surprised himself with the ease with which he could suddenly return to his robot form.  He pushed himself up off the floor with both hands and regarded the oily slick underneath him. “It’s been worse,” Sideswipe shrugged it off.

Sideswipe stood upright and steadied himself on his mangled legs.  As he heaved his weight up, more hydraulic fluid leaked heavily from the tears in the metal, leaving the red warrior standing in a large slick. He pushed the tips of his feet hard into the floor and leaned back instinctively to balance himself. Looking down at the backs of his legs he saw the red metal pushed out from the back end of his vehicle form.  The bulged metal beneath him created uneven footing, which was causing his legs below the knee joints to naturally lean forward.

The red warrior steadied himself with one hand holding onto the edge of a nearby repair table and exercised a leg. Metal groaned against metal and his knee joints clanked stiffly. “Yup, it’s been worse,” he confirmed.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Wheeljack warned.

Sideswipe continued to test his legs until one suddenly collapsed under his weight.  A huge quantity of hydraulic fluid gushed out from near the top of his knee joint with a sickening burble.  With both hands he tried to hold himself up on the edge of the table, but hydraulic fluid in the other leg’s cylinder slowly lost pressure as it bled out through the rupture in the side of his red leg and he shrank.  Sunstreaker groaned at the sight of his brother’s hydraulic fluid emptying out onto the floor of the medical bay in a huge mess.

“Well there goes the last of your hydraulic fluid,” Wheeljack winced.

Shortened by the second sagging piston and standing in the middle of a large, slippery puddle, Sideswipe began to lose his already shaky balance. With the last remaining pressure removed, the cylinder pistons locked in position from the resulting suction and the red warrior fell over, face first in his own hydraulic puddle.

“How humiliating,” was all Sideswipe could manage to say, oil covering his faceplate.

“You know, Sides,” Sunstreaker started, marvelling at his nearly spotless glossy yellow finish, “I really want to help you right now, but that’s just too messy for me. I’ve already got an interior that needs cleaning up.” 

“Thanks a lot, slagger,” his twin replied gruffly and dropped his head.

Wheeljack shot Sunstreaker an intense stare. Looking hard, he noticed what appeared to be blood on the yellow Lamborghini’s leather interior.  Wheeljack locked optics with the yellow warrior, who responded with a rare moment of surprise.  “Hoist!” Wheeljack called, finally looking away.  “Can you help me get Sidewipe up onto one of these tables?”     

“Oh, what an awful mess,” Hoist stated distastefully at the sight of the large, glistening oil puddle slowly edging its way in all directions across the floor.  “We had better get that cleaned up right away.”

“Let’s get him on the table first.”  Wheeljack straddled the oil slick and grabbed Sideswipe under his shoulders.

Hoist picked up Sideswipe’s feet and the two Autobots lifted him together. With a heave, they turned him right side up as they laid him on the repair table. Afterward, Hoist took out the medical bay vacuum and cleaned up all of the leaked hydraulic fluid on the floor before wiping up the remaining residue with a pile of oil absorbent cloth squares that Ratchet always kept on hand. A dark, oily mess coated the entire front side of the red warrior’s body, streaking into little rivers that dripped onto the floor below.  Wheeljack took a clean cloth square and wiped the oil off of Sideswipe’s faceplate and optics. 

Wheeljack relaxed his frame. What a day it had been, he reflected.  He regarded Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, knowing it was just as important to console one brother as it was to console the other. “On the bright side, Sides, I’d say you would have needed a complete flushing of your hydraulic system anyway after the metal debris from that much damage ended up in it.”  He bent down and dipped his finger in some of the hydraulic fluid still on the floor.   He held it up to the light near Sideswipe’s optics to show him the glittery metallic flakes in the oil.  “Don’t worry, Ratch’ will fix you up good.” 

“Aren’t you staying to fix me up?”

“You need Hoist here to clean you up first, otherwise all that hydraulic fluid’s gonna make one heck of a mess inside you once you get opened up for repair work.”

Sideswipe settled himself on the repair table, realizing he was going to be out of commission for a while. “Sunny, why don’t you go get some energon or something?  I’m not going anywhere.”  The yellow warrior grumbled and then reluctantly got up.

Wheeljack turned away from Sideswipe and stared over at Mirage.  Hoist looked up from his cleaning and observed that Wheeljack appeared miles away in thought about something else.  He expected it was Spike. The maintenance Autobot knew there was nothing more that they could do about it for the time being so he returned to mopping up the oil laden cloths.

“I gotta go give our buddy Mirage a hand.” Wheeljack opened up Ratchet’s tool and instrument cabinets and began searching.  The chief medical officer was extremely well organized. Everything was pristinely clean and arranged in its proper place.  He glanced back at the off line blue and white Autobot, deciding which tools he should try first.  An enmeter, a meggar set and some probes would do.

He set the tools down on the instrument table next to Mirage and pulled up a diagnostics console.  The Autobot’s head was turned to the side, optics dark and mouth hanging open. He carefully turned Mirage’s head to face forward and look toward the ceiling, then closed the Autobot’s mouth. The original shape of the white vehicle nose portion of his chestplate assembly was crushed beyond recognition.  Luckily for Mirage, the front end of his vehicle form was designed as a crumple zone and it cushioned the rest of his torso frame from a significant amount of the impact energy that would have caused more considerable damage. 

He glanced over at the Spark Cell work station he set up, realizing he needed some of his own tools to remove the crushed chestplate assembly. Ratchet would definitely complain if he knew that Wheeljack was mixing up their tools.  As he gathered his tool set from the work station, he paused to look down at the loaded Spark Cell, its light still glowing a steady red.  Wheeljack was confident that Spike had been saved, but had the tired sinking feeling that the road ahead for him was not going to be easy.

Returning to Mirage, he pulled up a seat and began to sweep the enmeter over Mirage’s core function zones to detect any irregularities in energon flow. The device readout appeared normal, meaning that all his fuel lines and energon distribution system were functioning normally. He disconnected the white portion of Mirage’s chestplate and set it out of the way underneath the repair table, since the Autobot would need a new one constructed.  With his chassis exposed, Wheeljack observed a noticeable bend at Mirage’s midsection. He removed the housing covers and observed a large crack in Mirage’s central column.

As he leaned forward to inspect the condition of the energon conduit couplings at either end of the column, a tall orange figure approached out of his periphery and caught his attention.

“You okay?” Grapple asked gently. 

Wheeljack began connecting the probes to Mirage so that his systems would appear on the diagnostics screen.  “Yeah,” the engineer replied quietly.

“You know, I know how it feels to have your work go unrecognized.” The large architect turned and, clenching his fist, gazed off into the distance. “All that work and someone comes along to ruin it! It’s depressing!”

Wheeljack leaned back, crossing his arms.  “I’m not depressed, but I am bothered about what happened to Spike.”

“Well, I think your Spark Cell is impressive” the architect proudly commended without acknowledging Wheeljack’s response, “and you did the best you could to help Spike. Everyone knows that neither you nor Ratchet could have helped him any other way.  He’s a, er, was a human being after all.”

“I don’t think you understand,” the engineer tried to explain to the architect.  “I didn’t set out to transfer Spike’s life force to the Spark Cell.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Grapple replied, almost smiling as he leaned across Mirage to whisper to Wheeljack. “You don’t have to worry.  Your secret is safe with me.” The architect grinned and nodded to the stunned engineer before returning to assisting with repairs to the other waiting Autobots.

“Oh great.”  Wheeljack sunk back in his seat, wondering what sort of reputation he would get as word spread throughout the Ark about what had become of Spike. He wondered if anyone would believe him that he was only trying to save him. At that point, though, there was not much he could do to stop the spread of rumors. He looked down at the bundle of probes still in his hand and realized he had to get back to Mirage.

On the monitor, Wheeljack meticulously scanned the readout from the probes.  He spent a good length of time making sense of the conflicting data being communicated between Mirage’s systems. Wheeljack wished that Ratchet would return and take over the medical bay from him. Some of the injuries he was trying to repair required the chief medical officer’s finesse and specialized skills to diagnose and remedy. He took a moment to check his internal chronometer.  Ratchet had been gone for more than three hours.  

He tried meggaring the cables leading through the central column to test if one or more of the lines were dead. Mirage was very lucky that his conduit casing had not cracked all the way through and that the connective components in the column remained protected and fully functional.  The slight Autobot had taken quite a blow.

Wheeljack leaned over the repair table and stared at Mirage’s open circuitry with his head in his hands. He was convinced that Mirage was offline because of a telemetry problem, but he did not know where it might be.  Time passed as he puzzled about how to get Mirage online and at least somewhat functioning again.  Eventually, he picked up a pair of voltage needles and tried testing Mirage’s communication system failsafe disconnects.  The voltage read null.  The reading surprised him. He tried the disconnect circuitry from another communicator module.  Again, null.  A third one in the communication network yielded the same result. 

Wheeljack removed the housing from Mirage’s data synchronizer and checked the condition of the internal circuitry.  Everything appeared in good condition, but then he noticed the burned fuses, indicating an over-voltage trip had occurred in his telemetry transmitting circuitry.

“Ha!” he cried with relief.  “A cascading trip in his communication failsafe disconnects!”

The other Autobots in the repair bay all looked at Wheeljack with expressions of stunned confusion as if the engineer had just spoken in an incomprehensible language.

The engineer continued to speak excitedly to himself.  “Well then, it’s easy!  All I have to do is reset the switches and replace a few fuses and we should have him online again!”

He set about adjusting and fixing the telemetry hardware and the blue and white Autobot’s optics flickered to life once again.

“Hey Mirage!” Wheeljack exclaimed, joyed to see the Autobot coming to his senses.

Mirage flinched and looked about the medical bay, not knowing how or why he was suddenly finding himself there. “W-what happened?” He fixed his gaze on Wheeljack who was perched on his seat to his left.  “Last thing I remember, Thundercracker was right on top of me.”

“Then you must have taken a nasty whack from him,” Wheeljack explained, and reached down to pick up Mirage’s crumpled vehicle nose.  He raised it to show it to the injured Autobot. “At least this crumpled and protected you somewhat.”

Mirage appeared to be taking his injuries well.  “What kind of condition am I in?”

“If I were you I wouldn’t be planning on moving about too much until Ratchet can see to you.”  Wheeljack heard a gentle clanking of Autobot feet approached the medical bay doors.  “Your central column’s bent and cracked and the upper section of your slip ring assembly looks like it isn’t connected very tightly.  You don’t want to risk getting up and pulling yourself apart like a corkscrew.”

A horrified expression crossed Mirage’s faceplate. He was not used to receiving such a graphical explanation of his injuries. “Where’s Ratchet?”

At that moment the bay doors hissed open and a murmur rose in the medical bay as everyone was clearly relieved to see that the doctor had returned. 

“Thank goodness you’re back!” Wheeljack exclaimed. Ratchet’s expression was very solemn and his hands were balled into loose fists.  “Ratch’…?” he tried again.  But Ratchet walked past him as if he was not there towards a seat and set himself down in it. “How’d it go?”

Ratchet’s frame sunk.  He pressed his weight into the back of the chair, tipping the front legs off the floor, and balanced himself with one foot against the vacant repair table in front of him, staring at the floor all the while.  The chief medical officer was not in a friendly mood.

Wheeljack excused himself from Mirage, and walked over to face his red and white friend. “Ratch’?”

“I hate that part of my job.”  Ratchet lowered his head so that the charcoal grey chevron on his forehead made his optics appear more stern.

“What happened?” Wheeljack quietly asked.

Ratchet was not quick to answer. He let a moment pass to emphasize that he was really not in the mood to talk, then grumbled incomprehensibly.  “Sparkplug isn’t taking it well.”

Wheeljack straightened.  It must have been quite some conversation for it to throw Ratchet into such a funk with him. 

The medic continued flatly.  “Prime and Bumblebee are still there trying to sort everything out. Since our own wounded needed taking care of I came back along with Prowl.”

Wheeljack turned all the way around and leaned back against the side of the repair table.  So, Prime had left the Ark after talking to him and had met up with the others.  He wondered about what Ratchet had said about Sparkplug. “Did they tell Sparkplug the part about the Spark Cell?”

Ratchet contorted his expression and rocked himself in the chair with his foot.  “He’s pretty upset right now. I can’t say I blame him, either.”

“Upset about what part?” Wheeljack pried.

Ratchet stopped his rocking and looked up into Wheeljack’s optics, answering him directly. “Spike’s dead. ‘Jack, you and I do what we do, but human beings react differently to these things than we do.  For some reason he just doesn’t believe that Spike could be saved by your device.”

Wheeljack sputtered in disbelief.  “What?  Why would he think that?  That doesn’t make any sense.  He was there when we did the mind transfer before.”

“I know,” Ratchet calmly responded, slowly rocking again.  “It’s like there’s something else going on, but I don’t know what. That’s just the way it is.”

Wheeljack interlocked his fingers behind his head. “Well…”  He had his orders from Prime and wanted more than ever now to build a body and download that spark in the Spark Cell into it. It might be the only way to clear up any doubts about Spike’s survival beyond the terrible events that none of them could have helped.  “I think I need a break. Will you keep the Spark Cell safe until I ask for it?  It’s over there on the work station.”

Ratchet nodded, knowing that Wheeljack intended to design and build a body for Spike, to get him online as soon as possible and end the uncertainty.  He knew that it may end up being a new chance for life for Spike, but that it created confusion for Sparkplug about the state of his son.

Wheeljack pushed himself off the edge of the table, gathered his tools and equipment, and wearily left the medical bay to power down for a while in the refuge of his workshop quarters, leaving Ratchet to take care of the wounded Autobots.

Several days passed without Ratchet seeing or hearing anything from Wheeljack. Repairs had been going well and the chief medial officer had just about everyone up and fully functional again.  From the perfectly buffed finishes he produced to the flawlessly smooth operation he returned to non-functioning joints, Ratchet had a special way of having his patients leave medical bay happy with his work. He felt better as time passed and eventually only one patient was left.  So, he took a pause to relax and pay a visit to his friend, in hopes that Wheeljack was not taking the recent events too hard.

As he passed through the doors to Wheeljack’s workshop, Ratchet saw that the engineer was busy welding something large on one of his project tables. Wheeljack liked to work on projects with the lights turned low everywhere except for the area in which he worked.  It helped him to concentrate. The table on which his latest project was set was pivoted at a shallow angle, however all that Ratchet could see was the table underside.  The engineer turned and looked through the blue welding smoke, surprised to have a visitor. The expression in the engineer’s optics revealed gratitude at seeing his boxy red and white friend visiting.

“What’s wrong with you ‘Jack?  You decided you don’t want to join me for energon anymore?” Ratchet smiled widely.

Wheeljack chuckled.  “It’s good to see you ‘Ratch.”  He turned off the torch, set it down on a tool cabinet near him and came over to greet his friend.

“You’ve been hiding in here for the last few days, haven’t you?” the chief medical officer taunted the engineer.  “C’mon, I know you’re working hard, but you’ve got to take a break from this and relax.”

“How can I relax when everyone thinks I’m nuts about what I did with Spike?”

Ratchet slapped Wheeljack on the back a little too hard and laughed. “What’s there to worry about?  Everyone thinks your nuts anyway.”  He then took a more serious tone. “Look, what happened to Spike worried me at first because I thought I should be able to do something about it. Then I realized that being able to fix him was beyond my ability. I realized my limit.  And I can’t tell you how many times I remember on Cybertron when a ‘bot came under my laser scalpel just to cease functioning, no matter what I did.” 

“I wish I could be that insensitive,” Wheeljack replied with a hint of sarcasm.

Ratchet frowned. “It’s not insensitive, it’s realistic. I do care, but it doesn’t mean that we let this get us down. We did the best we could under the circumstances.  You need to pull yourself out of it.”

“Pull myself out of it?” asked Wheeljack, confused.

“Out of… Well, listen to yourself!  I can’t remember the last time you were down like this.”  Ratchet pulled up a chair and relaxed into it. “You’re just worried you can’t save him, aren’t you?”

Wheeljack looked back to the project table where he had just been working and held the back of his head as he thought about the question. “It’s not really that. I believe he is in the Spark Cell. I’m just a little worried that he won’t adjust well to his, uh, new circumstances.”

Ratchet stretched out his legs and folded his arms behind his head.  “You always do a fine job, ‘Jack. I’m always thankful that you’re around.  I don’t know what we’d do without you sometimes.”

Wheeljack was humble.  “Thanks, Ratch’.”

Ratchet tipped his chin up, looking over at the project table. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got done?” He rose out of his chair and preemptively approached around the front of the table.  Wheeljack followed.

The lower half of a robot was fastened to the table. Thick lengths of cable and flexible conduit innards trailed out of the half assembled central column and were carefully attached in a bundle to one side so that they would not move.  The left leg appeared finished, complete with pieces of the back end of a car body, its vehicle disguise.  The right leg was approaching completion as well. Wheeljack was in the process of attaching the vehicle parts to the linkages and servos, and was welding in additions to the superstructure to hold the body’s weight. 

Ratchet reminded himself not to comment on Wheeljack’s construction techniques.  The medic would have done all of the strengthening work first before installing the control components.  It just was not the best practice to do welding around heat sensitive pieces of machinery. The weld spatter alone would be difficult enough to clean up with the order that Wheeljack was assembling his work.  At least the spatter was on the inside where no one but Ratchet would ever have to see it.  Over time, he would be the one cleaning it up as repairs were required.

Wheeljack swept his hand out towards a black, headless torso bearing the front section of the robot’s vehicle disguise, the remaining leg components, and the roof and door panels arranged on the workshop floor nearby. “I’ve been applying an armoring treatment to each piece. The metal they make these Earth cars out of sure isn’t very strong on its own.”

Ratchet narrowed his optics, squinting at something on the back windshield portion of a piece for the other leg. “Is that what I think it is?”  Wheeljack appeared confused as Ratchet approached the part and picked it up to inspect it. “Primus, ‘Jack!  You used Spike’s car, didn’t you!”  There was a tone of shock and disbelief in Ratchet’s vocalizer.

“Well, yes…why?  What’s wrong with that?”

Ratchet smacked his hand against his forehead and shook his head.  “Prime’s been looking everywhere for Spike’s car.  Sparkplug wants it back.”

This did not make any sense to Wheeljack.  “Why? It’s Spike’s car.” He processed possible reasons why Sparkplug wanted someone else’s car, but they all seemed trivial. 

Ratchet did not understand the reason either.  However, he realized that it was better for Wheeljack if he mentioned this detail to Prime, since it was now transparent that Sparkplug would not be getting the vehicle back. “I don’t know, ‘Jack.  But I’ll have to talk to Prime about it.”

Wheeljack was about to suggest to Ratchet that he would just bring it up with Prime himself in his next progress communication, but stopped himself.  “You know that’s funny. I’ve been discussing my progress with Prime for the last few days and he never mentioned anything about it.”

“Maybe he didn’t think you had it.”  Ratchet shrugged.

If the use of Spike’s car was one of those decisions that Prime explicitly mentioned that he wanted to be involved in, it was not clear, but it was too late to change anything now. He wondered how the fate of Spike’s car could be of significance since it belonged to Spike and he clearly did not have any other use for it. It may even turn out that Spike would come to appreciate Wheeljack’s choice since, he reasoned, Spike had chosen the vehicle for himself and was already familiar with it.  Nonetheless, it was probably for the best that Ratchet told Prime the news. Prime had eased up after hearing that everything was progressing as expected and that nothing significant needed his attention. Wheeljack trusted that his friend would represent him in the best possible way.  As for Sparkplug, Prime would have to deal with finding an explanation since Sparkplug was bound to find out sooner or later when he met Spike again.

The chief medical officer broke his train of thought.  “Why don’t we go for some energon?”

Wheeljack sagged.  “Yeah, I could go for that.” 

Ratchet smiled at his friend and chuckled. “A little extra energon will fix you up just nicely.” 

Several hours later, Ratchet returned alone to the medical bay, leaning heavily on the door frame. His circuitry was overcharged and his motors had been running full out with minimal loading for hours. It was quite the rush, but the burnout afterward was proportional to the amount by which he exceeded his normal energon consumption. His lubricant temperature levels were getting too high and he needed to power down and let some time pass for his systems to come back to normal. His quarters through the back of the medical bay seemed too far away, so he wearily trudged over and slumped down on one of the vacant repair tables.

Laying flat on his back with one knee bent, he shielded his optics from the overhead lights with his arm. He had to hand it to Wheeljack.  The engineer was really good at maintaining himself at high energon overcharge levels once he got started with the energon consumption games.  To the amusement of many other Autobots in the lounge the two tried out doing each other, growing louder as time passed.  

The medic groaned from the persistence of his overcharged systems. Beside him, someone snickered.

He slowly rolled his head to the side, not remembering why there would be someone else in the medical bay with him.  The servos in his optical apparatus were cycling out of phase with each other, causing his vision to occasionally distort. An out of focus red and black figure talked to him from the repair table to his left.

“Been out partying?”

Ratchet focused his optics hard on the figure and slowly it became more recognizable.  “Oh, did I ever need to relax.  I am so overcharged…”

The figure snickered again.  “I can see. You didn’t bring me any?”

Ratchet rolled his head back and forth in a clumsy shake then looked back at the figure. With his hand he shielded his optics from the lights again, hoping to reduce the strain.  Three images of a familiar Autobot combined together into one solid shape as his optics began to slowly recover. “Sideswipe, what are you doing here?”

“Oh you know,” the Lamborghini joked.  “I always like to hang out here.  I practically live here.  Don’t you remember?” In truth, Sideswipe’s legs were so damaged by Menasor that they needed to be completely rebuilt, so he was stuck in medical bay for days while Ratchet worked on him.

“Shut up, slag heap,” Ratchet slurred, “I’m not that overcharged.” His motors were starting to make an unhealthy whirring sound, the windings beginning to burn. His sensors were registering bizarre conditions in his environment that he knew from experience were not possible. 

“Oh c’mon ‘Ratch,” Sideswipe taunted the grumpy chief medical officer. “You really do like me, don’t you?”  He eagerly awaited whatever ridiculous answer Ratchet would give him.

Ratchet’s neural processor was pulsing beyond normal functioning levels and he felt compelled to answer Sideswipe’s question with the first idea that emerged in his mind.  “I hate to tell you Sides…but I think I like Sunny better because…he doesn’t make me work…so hard.”  He rolled his head to look away from the Lamborghini. 

The answer turned out to be not so funny.  “Do you mean that?” Sideswipe frowned.  There was no response.  “Hey, Ratch’.”  Ratchet’s arm dropped to the side and there was no further response from the still Autobot lying on the repair table next to him.  Ratchet softly powered down.  Sideswipe wondered whether Ratchet had given him an overcharged response or revealed his true personal opinion about him. Either way, he was surprised that the comment stung him as it did. He stared back up at the ceiling and decided to power down as well, since he had no where else to go and nothing to do until Ratchet finished his repairs.    

Later, when Ratchet came back online again, Sidewipe was still lying on the repair table next to him, waiting impatiently.  “Oh finally, you’re up. Can you finish me up today so I can get out of here?”

Ratchet rolled over and slowly tried to sit. He could feel the strain on his mechanical components from all the energon he consumed the previous night. If he could only get up and start moving around again, his systems would adjust and relubricate themselves so that he would not feel so stiff and disoriented. At least his circuitry was back to normal.

“Hey, Ratch’,” Sideswipe called to the chief medical officer seated facing away from him.  Ratchet turned his head to see him over his shoulder.  “Do you remember what you said last night?”

Ratchet’s optics widened.  He did not remember having a conversation with the red warrior when he returned to the medical bay.  Neither could he recall what led him to lay down on one of the repair tables instead of in his quarters.  “What did I say?”

The red warrior rested his head on his hand. Ratchet’s response was answer enough for him.  “Oh, it’s not a big deal. You were pretty overcharged.”  His mouth twisted into a small smile.

Ratchet got up off the medical table and started with easy tasks such as reorganizing his equipment and tools. It felt better to be up and mobile.

“So, am I going to get out of here today?” the red warrior persisted.

Ratchet checked the ordering of the tools hanging in one of his tool cabinets. His optics narrowed as he remembered his discussion with Wheeljack from the previous evening.  “I’ll do my best to get you out of here as soon as I can, but I’ve got to go see Prime about something first.”

“What could be more important than me?” the red warrior teased, half seriously.

Ratchet looked back at Sideswipe.  “I know it’s been a long time since you were up, but trust me.  This really can’t wait.”

Sideswipe grouchily mumbled something about Ratchet having enough time to get overcharged before discussing whatever it was with Prime, but not having enough time to finish rebuilding his legs.

“If you’re tired of lying there I can always force you to power down until I’m done.”  Ratchet grinned over his shoulder as he left the medical bay. 

Ratchet found Prime seated in his office, reading something on a screen in front of him. The Autobot leader looked up with interest when he noticed the chief medical officer at the door.  “Yes, Ratchet?”

The red and white Autobot entered the room and approached the desk.  “Prime, I’ve come to tell you that I know where Spike’s car is.”

Optimus Prime eagerly waited for Ratchet to continue. 

“It’s, uh, in Wheeljack’s workshop.” Ratchet almost winced at his own statement, realizing that it did not come out sounding as well as he had hoped. “What I mean to say is that Wheeljack decided to use it as Spike’s transformation mode.” He hoped that he had not delivered the news too bluntly.

The Autobot leader pushed his chair away with the backs of his legs and stood up.  Ratchet took a step back from the towering red and blue figure. The news had definitely made quite an impression on Prime, and Ratchet anticipated that he would have to defend Wheeljack.  

Prime crossed his arms and thought for a moment. “Hmm.  I can see how Wheeljack would come to the conclusion that this was the best thing to do with Spike’s car.” 

Ratchet was surprised that the Autobot leader did not have harsh words for the engineer, especially after the difficult time Prime had explaining the situation with the Spark Cell and Spike to Sparkplug when they had returned to the city with Spike’s body. Sparkplug resisted the news, fearing that the Autobots were about to make a mechanical monster out of his son’s life force. Because Ratchet had taken Spike to the hospital, where they met up with Spike’s father, he had been privy to that conversation. He recalled Sparkplug tearfully explaining to Prime that he could not bear to put out hope that Spike somehow survived, just to see him disappear into madness again like had happened when they first tried the mind transfer after the accident years ago.  Once was enough.   

Prime dealt with Sparkplug’s grief very well, mostly listening, and did not try to convince Sparkplug otherwise. He recognized that the Autobots had done enough damage to the relationship with Sparkplug by failing to protect Spike, and decided to give Sparkplug the space he needed to sort out his feelings.  It seemed easier for Sparkplug to accept Spike’s untimely death and get closure than try to deal with a potentially more upsetting situation which could end similarly. 

“You’re not upset with Wheeljack?”

“No, Ratchet.  Wheeljack is not the source of our problems here.”

“So what about Spike’s car?” inquired Ratchet.

Prime tilted his head to the side as he answered.  “There’s not much I can do to return the car to Sparkplug at this point. I don’t think telling him about what became of it is going to help anything, either.  But with a little time I think we’ll find an opportunity to settle this.” Prime paused and looked down at the red and white Autobot. “Thank you for the information, Ratchet.”

Ratchet respectfully nodded and left Prime’s office. He thought he should personally let Wheeljack know that Prime was not upset about the car. Passing through the Autobot lounge he encountered Mirage, who was settled into one of the couches, quietly watching Indy racing on one of the large screens with a smug smile on his faceplate.

“Hey there, Mirage, how have you been functioning lately?” the chief medical officer asked his former patient.

“Oh, hi, Ratchet.  Fine, everything seems to be fine.” Mirage nodded with a dreamy, far off look in his optics.  He was in a good mood and smiled at the medic, only momentarily taking his optics off the screen. 

He must have really been enjoying the program he was watching, or else fantasizing about taking part in a race like that himself.  “Good.  Well, let me know if anything does come up.”  Mirage was engrossed in the television show and hardly noticed as Ratchet continued on his way.

Hound and Bumblebee were huddled near each other on adjacent couches in one corner of the lounge.  The minibot’s back was facing Ratchet.  From Bumblebee’s body language and animated hand gestures he could tell that they were, or at least Bumblebee was, in the middle of an emotional conversation with the scout. For the most part, Hound was doing a lot of listening.

Ratchet waved to Hound, who acknowledged Ratchet without interrupting Bumblebee by lifting his hand from the arm of the couch.  The yellow minibot was too wrapped up in what he was talking about to pay any attention to Hound’s gesture.

Understandably, Bumblebee had been very upset ever since Spike’s human body died, and felt partially responsible. Good old Hound took the little Autobot under his wing and was spending a lot of time consoling him and being just a plain good friend.  Everyone knew that Bumblebee liked Spike as a human friend and didn’t want Spike to be a robot. Ratchet stared down at the floor as he passed them and left through the other side of the lounge.  Of course, he thought, Bumblebee always knew that he would have to deal with Spike’s death some day.  He hoped that Bumblebee would pull himself out of it when they brought Spike online.  

When Ratchet returned to Wheeljack’s workshop, the engineer did not greet him right away.  “Just a minute,” Wheeljack stated from the other side of the project table, unable to see who it was. 

Ratchet walked around the table to find Wheeljack standing on a bench, one hand steadying himself on the robot’s chassis, the other hand reaching through the neck cavity pulling cables up through the upper half of its central column into its chest compartment. Wheeljack had finished the lower half of the body.  The headless torso, with loose arms carefully clamped to the table, was suspended above the lower half as he pulled the cables so that the energon piping would not be laid too tightly when he finally connected the upper and lower halves together and joined them.  Flexible energon conduit was laid out on a parts table nearby, ready for installation as portions of the cabling was completed.

Building an Autobot from scratch was not Ratchet’s craft.  His expertise was in rebuilding and repairing those already built and online.  Occasionally, under Wheeljack’s direction, he would assist the engineer, but usually his role was to work out glitches and fine tune operation.  If required, he could fabricate designs from Wheeljack’s plans. Ratchet rarely attempted to build anything outright new on his own.

Wheeljack was an expert at sizing all the systems and components, then planning how they would work together. Although his workshop did not appear very orderly, the records the engineer kept of his designs and the modifications he made were meticulous.  On the side, he was compiling a databank of detailed information on the designs of all the Autobots in the Ark that would assist him in designing future upgrades and modifications.  Thus far during their exile on the Earth, his store of information was impressive.

The engineer pulled himself away from his work, momentarily surprised to see Ratchet standing right behind him.  “Hey Ratch’, looks like you’re doing a little better.”  He chuckled at the memory of Ratchet stumbling, overcharged, from the lounge the night before.

Ratchet’s expression contorted.  “It was nothing a little time powered down couldn’t handle.”

Wheeljack laughed and shook his head, returning to his work as they talked.  “That’s what they all say.”

Ratchet changed the subject. “I came to tell you I talked with Prime. You know, about Spike’s car.”

Leaning over the robot’s car hood torso he turned his attention back to Ratchet. “Yeah?”

“You’ll be glad to know he’s not upset.  He said he understands why you used it.”

Wheeljack continued to pull the cable by the handful, separating it and directing each to various torso components.  “Good.  I didn’t think there would be a problem.  It’s only his car.”

Wheeljack was absorbed in his task and did not seem to be interested in pursuing the conversation.  Ratchet looked around the workshop and noticed a helmet shell that looked very similar to Prowl’s, in both style and color, on the edge of a console on the opposite side of the room.  Electronic plans for construction of the neural processor unit, head structure and sensors were displayed on the screen above the console.  Earlier, it was obvious to Ratchet that Wheeljack had chosen the proven design of Prowl, Bluestreak and Smokescreen, which simplified design and minimized time troubleshooting.  Among the Ark’s stores were plenty of spare parts for the three Autobots, which hastened the speed with which he could construct a body for Spike. The sight of a similar head design did not surprise the medic.

“I should be getting back to the medical bay.  Sideswipe is waiting for me to finish his repairs.” Wheeljack barely acknowledged the chief medical officer as he left, instead muttering to himself as he worked.

Two days passed. Prime finished his rounds of the Ark, making a presence and seeing that everything was well. The medical bay had been vacant for a day now and Ratchet had just finished cleaning up and getting all the equipment and tools back in order, ready for the next time when the medical bay would be busy. Ratchet was looking forward to some down time after all the work.  The Autobots injured during the battle were all doing well, including Sideswipe, who was enjoying the opportunity to flaunt his polished red finish in front of his jealous brother.

Prime had assembled all the Autobots immediately after returning from the hospital, save Wheeljack, Ratchet and those injured after the battle, and explained to them what had happened to Spike. Those undergoing repairs he visited personally afterward to speak with them about the recent events. He owed it to his fellow Autobots to inform them of what he knew and what he still did not know before rumor spread to all of them and the speculation began. He explained that Prowl was going to conduct interviews with them to try to determine why the Decepticons had unexpectedly attacked and to fill in some of the gaps in their knowledge in the chain of events that lead to Spike’s death. Bumblebee, who was personally most affected by Spike’s death, at that point had been in shock and disbelief over what had happened.  Prime did all he could to console the minibot and assure him that Wheeljack was working diligently to fabricate a body and that his friend would be once again.  After about a week, Bumblebee seemed to be slowly coming to grips with the death of Spike’s human body, and where there had been only remorse there was now growing hope that he would soon be able to talk to Spike again and tell him how sorry he was. 

Prime checked his internal chronometer.  He expected to receive another regular check-in communication from Wheeljack, which was due many hours ago.  He was not concerned, though, since he anticipated from the previous conversation that Wheeljack must be nearing completion of Spike’s new body and that Wheeljack must be delaying the final check-in until he was finished. After coming down hard on Wheeljack initially about the use of his Spark Cell, Prime deliberately gave the engineer space to do his work, so that Wheeljack would not feel like he was under threat from the Autobot leader. The purpose of requiring Wheeljack to check in with him was to remind Wheeljack that there was an established order to the kind of decision making that had the potential to affect everyone, including himself. It was not meant as a punishment.  Time had passed now and Prime was satisfied that his message had been heard. So instead of waiting for the report, Prime decided to pay Wheeljack a visit.

Wheeljack must have recognized the Autobot leader’s heavier footsteps approaching his workshop since Wheeljack was not occupied, but standing facing the workshop doors when Prime entered.

“Your timing’s perfect,” Wheeljack announced.  “I was about to call you.”  Wheeljack tapped a couple of keys on the project table keypad and it angled itself until it was oriented vertically as it rotated around to face Optimus Prime.  “Basically, it’s done, except for a final few touches and some systems testing.”

Prime inspected Wheeljack’s handiwork. “Wheeljack, you never cease to amaze me,” he commended the engineer.  “You have been working tirelessly and have produced a fine looking Autobot body.”

Wheeljack was grateful to have his hard work recognized. “Thanks, Optimus.  I just can’t wait until I get the Spark Cell installed and show you it works.” Wheeljack’s exuberance had gotten the better of him again and he realized afterward that the message might have sounded self serving. “You know what I mean.” He looked down, having taken some of the wind out of his own sails.

“I understand that you mean to show that you were able to save Spike.  Let’s just hope that he is okay.”  

Wheeljack paused to reflect on why Spike had not done well in the body of Autobot X. Two reasons stood out more than any of the others that he figured, issues that he had resolved this time.  No freakish body made up of mismatched spare parts this time, and a properly configured neural network.  He was confident that everything would go relatively smoothly.  “I just need some time to put the finishing touches on everything, and then I’ll need Ratchet’s help to get some of the bugs worked out and get Spike online.”

Prime crossed his arms, optics still on the Autobot body held in place on the vertically oriented work table.  “Then inform me when you are ready. I also think you should invite Bumblebee to be present.”

“Of course,” Wheeljack heartily agreed.

The Autobot commander shifted his gaze down to the engineer below him. “I have assigned Ironhide to look into security matters.  We will be prepared in the event that anything should not go as planned.”

Suddenly, Wheeljack was reminded of Grapple’s words from the medical bay a week ago, which echoed in his processor: all that work, and someone comes along to ruin it.  He shook his head to remove the thought from his mind. It was true that sometimes his projects responded differently than he expected, occasionally with disastrous results, but this was different.  He had no choice but to accept Prime’s decision, no matter how unnecessary he felt it was.  This was Spike after all, and Wheeljack did not believe that they should anticipate a conflict. 

“I expect to be done sometime tomorrow,” he advised Prime.

“Good. I look forward to seeing your Spark Cell in action – for Spike’s sake as well as our own.” The Autobot leader tipped his head to the engineer and left Wheeljack’s workshop. 

The next day, the doors to Wheeljack’s workshop hissed open, revealing the refuge of the Autobot engineer seldom seen by most of the other Autobots.  Several half-finished projects lay in piles of various sizes and shapes on the floor outlining the large main room. One or two projects appeared to be neatly arranged in pieces like jigsaw puzzles that had yet to be put together.  It appeared reasonable that the pieces of one had been arranged together after some device had blown apart during a test run, as several pieces appeared blackened and deformed.  All parts and projects were unrecognizable as anything familiar. A few odd parts of machines and tools lay cluttered on the consoles throughout the workshop, as if forgotten.  Most of the lighting had been dimmed, save for the bright lights overhead the centerpiece of the workshop where Ratchet and Wheeljack worked together, completing the systems testing of Spike’s new body.

The engineer and chief medical officer were absorbed in making adjustments to the equipment connected to the Autobot body lying face up and still on the horizontal work table, and did not take notice of Hound and Bumblebee as they entered.

“I’m telling you, I zeroed that. It should be reading baseline.”  Wheeljack said, surprised to see that his adjustment was not accepted by the test equipment.

“Well, that reading is definitely negatively biased,” the red and white medic responded confidently. “If I trusted a readout that looked like that I would have a bunch of disoriented out-patients on my hands.”  He laughed to himself, thinking of the humorous consequence.

“Let me see that,” the engineer decided, ignoring Ratchet’s stab, and took a closer look at the readout monitor. He fiddled with the controls and stood back, one hand behind his head. “Well I’ll be. You’re right.” He bent over and looked carefully as he reached into the side of the Autobot’s head with the adjustment wrench. After a moment, the readout in question on the monitor in front of Ratchet jumped back to zero.

“See, I told you.” Ratchet sat back smugly, arms crossed.

“Wheeljack muttered to himself.  “I must have just adjusted it a little too far.” 

Hound made a vocalizer clearing sound into a clenched fist, announcing himself as Spike had shown him to do.

“Oh, hi you guys,” Ratchet greeted them. The red and white Autobot seemed to be in a good mood.  He must have been busy for a while with Wheeljack getting the bugs worked out of the new Autobot’s systems. It would have beenn a welcome the break from dealing with the usual band of Autobots that landed themselves in the medical bay with or without battle injuries.  “We have a couple more tests to do then we’re just waiting for Prime and the others.  It shouldn’t be too long now.”

The others? Bumblebee and Hound looked at each other with puzzled expressions. They had not been told that anyone else was planning on joining them for the revival of Spike.  Wheeljack busied himself opening access panels on the Autobot and connecting the terminals of a testing device to various circuitry systems and verifying the results. Bumblebee looked squeamish at the site of the robot’s internal workings.    

“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” Hound smiled and said as he patted Bumblebee’s shoulder reassuringly. 

“I’m just not used to seeing gore,” the minibot winced, looking away.  A familiar object set on a console nearby caught his attention just then. He recognized it as Wheeljack’s Spark Cell.  The steady red light on it indicated that all was still well with the spark held safely in stasis inside the machine. Bumblebee took a closer look at it.  Leaning in close, he regarded the device in awe as if it was some precious object, but did not touch it for fear that he would be responsible for some malfunction. It was the first time he had seen it since the the terrible event. Thank Primus, Ratchet kept it safe.  He shrank a little, reminded of the recent tragedy.

The workshop doors hissed opened again.  Bumblebee turned at the same moment as Hound to see Sunstreaker and Sideswipe entering the workshop.

The two tall warriors strode confidently into the workshop, Sunstreaker with his usual slight swagger. What the heck are they doing here? Bumblebee wondered, annoyed by their presence.

“What’s with all the melodrama?” the yellow warrior inquired sarcastically as he motioned to the bright lights over the motionless Autobot body in the otherwise dim room.  “You’d think this was a funeral or something.”

Sideswipe nodded in agreement and added his own jab, “or an autopsy.”

“Hey you guys, do you mind?” Hound responded.  “How about having a little sensitivity.”

“Sensitivity?” Sunstreaker spat. “I’m not here to be ‘sensitive’.”  He cut Bumblebee a cold, hard glare.

“Hey Sunny, save it,” his red brother cut in.  “These two aren’t worth the worry.  We’ve got bigger ‘bots to be concerned with.” He motioned with his head toward the Autobot body on the table.

“Yeah, you’re right bro’,” the tall yellow twin sighed through his vocalizer, full of himself. He wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to let everyone know his business there. “Security detail is where it’s at.” He looked away from Hound and Bumblebee, dismissively.

Bumblebee shrank at the thought of the two Lamborghinis taking on Spike. He remembered Spike in the body of Autobot X shaking off the twins like they were nothing. But that body was much bigger and stronger.  Spike doesn’t deserve to get in a fight with those two brutes. They’ll take him apart. There was not much Bumblebee could do. Minibots just did not get in the path of either Sunstreaker or Sideswipe without risking being sent to medical bay in at least one piece, possibly more.

Ratchet turned toward the two potential trouble makers, pointing a stern finger at them. “I’m not working on this ‘bot here so that the two of you can send him straight from here to medical bay where I can do this all over again.  Security means just that, not brawling.”

Hound smiled at Ratchet’s words. Good old Ratch’ has a knack for getting through to those two.  The medic was one of the few Autobots that was not afraid to stand up to the two warriors.

Meanwhile, Wheeljack looked stumped at some result he was reading from circuitry located in the Autobot body’s right shoulder area.  Typically, Wheeljack was not one to get caught up in petty squabbles. He had better things to think about. “Hey Ratch’, what do you make of this?”  But before Ratchet could respond, the engineer answered himself. “Oh I know,” he announced and dug his hands into a compartment in the shoulder to make a new connection with the terminals.  The otherwise motionless body tensed its arm and hand suddenly, halting in an unnatural, rigid pose.

“Uh, that’s kind of creepy,” uttered Sideswipe.

“Like…rigor mortis?” Sunstreaker asked, looking at Sideswipe for agreement.  He hoped he had remembered the organic expression correctly.

“I can’t stand the two of you talking about Spike like this!”  Bumblebee finally argued out of frustration and spite. “What the frag is wrong with you anyway? A ‘bot loses his best friend and all you do is make bad jokes.”

“Ok, Bumblebee,” Hound tried to calm down the yellow minibot.  The twins could be insensitive slaggers at times, but he also knew better than to take them on.

“You’ve got slag for brains,” Bumblebee challenged Sunstreaker.  Wheeljack and Ratchet both looked up in surprise, unsure that they had heard Bumblebee correctly.

Sunstreaker slowly swaggered up to Bumblebee and looked down at him from twice the minibot’s height.  The yellow warrior’s optics narrowed and he smirked.  “I could squash you like a bug.”

The labs doors hissed open and the large figure of the Autobot commander and his red and grey security officer strode in.  Prime’s presence commanded everyone’s attention.

“Now what exactly’s goin’ on here,” inquired Ironhide in his typical Texan drawl.  The hardened old veteran suspiciously eyed Sunstreaker, who was struck in an obviously intimidating pose over Bumblebee. “You want some action? ‘Cause I’ll give you some if you ain’t got nothin’ better to do.”

“Lay off, Ironhide.  Sunny wasn’t going to hurt anyone, were you, Sunny?”  Sideswipe retorted in his brother’s defense. The red warrior crossed his arms and relaxed, shifting his weight more onto one leg for effect.

Sunstreaker did not respond. He narrowed his optics at Bumblebee and gave him the I’ll get you later look, before backing off.  He stood up tall over Bumblebee then strutted back to his brother’s side. 

“Enough posturing,” Prime commanded everyone.  “We’re not here to fight with one another.” He seemed unfazed.  Ratchet and Wheeljack had stopped their testing and awaited Prime’s request.  “Wheeljack, Ratchet. Report status.”

“Well, we’re done,” reported Wheeljack.  He looked sideways at the stiff arm and hand. “One last thing to do here and we can get started.”  The engineer contorted his hand into the Autobot body’s shoulder compartment, making some other terminal connections.  The arm suddenly relaxed and clanked as it fell back down onto the table, where it remained motionless. The engineer laughed nervously. “Hydraulic pressure spike,” he excused the anomaly.

Ratchet turned back to the monitoring equipment. He looked once over the Autobot body, satisfying himself that everything was in order. Wires connected it to the monitors and control panels in front of the chief medical officer.  He flicked several switches on the one of the panels in front of him as Wheeljack carefully closed all the opened body compartments. Status readout graphs for the Autobot’s vital systems sprung to life on the larger monitor. Ratchet scrutinized the readouts as they ramped up.  The Autobot’s laser core and processor readouts indicated no activity.  They awaited a spark to bring them to life. The body’s fuel pump showed steady operation and its sensors were online and in the optimal range even though the Autobot body’s optics remained cold and dark. Ratchet nodded to Wheeljack.

“Well, we’re all ready,” Wheeljack announced to everyone.  He picked up the Spark Cell from the console near Bumblebee and brought it over to the inanimate body.  He opened a compartment at the base of the neck and paused. “Here we go.” The engineer carefully installed the Spark Cell and it snapped into place with an audible click. The reflection of the red indicator light on the device changed from a steady glow to an intermittent blink.  “Voila!” Wheeljack exclaimed proudly, as if the whole process was simple.

A subtle light in the Autobot’s optics flashed for an instant - the first sign of life.  The activity appeared as a small spike on the functional readout for its optical sensors. As the readout value increased, the dull blue glow of Autobot’s optics steadily grew brighter and brighter. Other readouts that had been flat lines on Ratchet’s monitors also jumped to life. The laser core ramped up and the first flickers of mental activity registered in the Autobot’s processor.  Wheeljack looked down at the device inside the compartment. The red light stopped blinking and its illumination ceased.  He acknowledged that the spark transfer was complete, closed the opened compartment and looked to Ratchet, his work complete. 

Ratchet closely inspected Spike’s system readouts. “Everything looks a-okay.  He’s online,” he reported, turning to Optimus Prime. 

“Spike!” Bumblebee tore away from the others to be at Spike’s side, his hand resting gently on the Autobot’s white forearm. The brilliant lights overhead cast a horned shadow across Spike’s prone form.  The Autobot’s golden faceplate, bright blue optics, white helmet and red chevron gave Bumblebee the impression of Prowl. Strangely similar, and yet Spike’s nothing like logical Prowl. Bumblebee composed himself and searched for some recognition in the new face.  “Spike?”

Prime, too, stepped closer into the light illuminating the table on which the Autobot lay. Spike slowly turned his head to look at Bumblebee.

Optimus Prime, towering above Bumblebee, leaned over.  “Spike,” he began with a familiar tone of sympathy, “You were badly hurt during the battle.”  The Autobot looked from Bumblebee up to Prime, optics glowing steadily.  “We tried to help you,” Prime explained.  The expression on Spike’s faceplate was unreadable.

What was Prime saying?  Spike’s optics narrowed as he strained to remember something. Suddenly, he flashed back to a memory of a Decepticon attack.  Explosions and gunfire sounded a short distance from the Ark. The rumble of a large blast traveled through his legs, nearly knocking him off balance as he approached the entrance of the Ark. Familiar voices could be heard in the distance, although he wasn’t sure who it was he was hearing or what they were saying. He felt disoriented. Bumblebee was somewhere nearby, but what was going on? He remembered his hand on his car door handle and then nothing. Nothing more.  He blanked out. The memory dispersed and a stillness filled him that was mirrored by the subdued atmosphere around him.  His optic ridges furrowed as he focussed on something emerging from the void in his mind. “I had the strangest dream I was on…” He paused, unsure of what was going on.  Quizzically, he tested his vocalizer, listening to its metallic edge. “…Cybertron.” Realization came to him suddenly, and panic instantly struck him.  “Oh no! What have you done to me?!” 

Bumblebee and Prime straightened.  Ratchet sat up, taking note of the wild fuel pump activity on the monitor next to him. The chief medical officer motioned to Prime that it was nothing to be too concerned about, just Spike’s systems responding to his emotions. 

Spike awkwardly tried to get his bearings. As he raised himself up to rest on his elbows, Wheeljack stepped up from behind to help steady him. Spike glanced down at himself and recoiled, seeing the hood of a black car where his chest should be.  A red Autobot symbol looked back at him from the center of the hood. To his left and right were black robot shoulders bearing car wheels.  His optics flashed wide and, with a look of horror, he shot Optimus a piercing look.  “What have you done!?” He noticed a couple of red and yellow figures tense in the shadowy background of the room.

The familiar yellow minibot answered.  “Ravage dragged you off.” The pitch of his voice had increased with worry.  Spike knew that pleading tone all too well. “You were badly hurt.  I tried to help, Spike, but I couldn’t…” Bumblebee slowly shook his head with regret and lowered his optics.  “I’m sorry.  I failed.”  His whole frame lowered, mimicking a gesture he had seen done by humans.

Spike tried to process this information. He narrowed his optics, focusing to keep himself calm in his current condition so that he could figure out what was happening.  A blurry, terror-filled memory of a similar experience years ago came back to him and he suddenly found himself speaking as he relived the emotions from that shocking moment of his life. “So, where am I?”

“Well obviously,” began Wheeljack, matter of factly, “you’re right here.”  The engineer couldn’t have been more blunt. Ratchet shot Wheeljack a look of disbelief, understanding that Spike was asking where his human body was. 

Bumblebee ignored Wheeljack. Like Ratchet, Bumblebee also realized that his friend must have thought that this was a temporary body, as the body of Autobot X was years ago, until the time when his human body could be fixed up and healed after the accident. The memory of flipping over violently in vehicle mode after being fired at by the Decepticons sparked Bumblebee’s tactile sensors. His own pain and injuries had been dwarfed by his concern for Spike, who had been traveling inside him when he crashed.  It had been awful being stuck in vehicle mode while Ironhide extracted Spike and then laid him inside Ratchet.  The events of that day had been very unfortunate. However, they had also had the great fortune that it had occurred close enough to the city, and Ratchet and Prowl were there to assist in getting Spike to medical attention quickly.       

Of course, Spike did not remember any part of that painful event from years ago. He had been unconscious from the point of the crash to the point that he awoke in the robot body his father had patched together from a variety of Autobot spare parts.  What an eyesore it was, too. And so it seemed only natural that Spike would conclude that his human body was in a hospital again, and that this Autobot body was temporary, also. 

The doctor at the hospital told the Autobots then that it was typical for humans to die from shock and excruciating pain suffered by major bone breakage and other extensive life threatening injuries.  Sometimes, it was easier for humans to let go when they knew they were badly hurt.  Spike must have known that we transferred his consciousness to the body of Autobot X to free him from the extensive pain and suffering that would have caused his demise.  He and Spike had never discussed it in much detail, not even afterwards.  The Autobots had just assumed that Spike would have been able deduce that they meant to help him, to prevent him from dying.  It was obvious, wasn’t it?

He and Spike were good friends.  Surely Spike wouldn’t hold anything against him for being the bearer of bad news.  “You, uh, can’t go back, Spike.” 

“What do you mean?” he asked.  The memory of awakening in the body of that mismatched monster, Autobot X, stabbed his mind with violent suddenness.  He recalled the ominous presence of something else in that body that fought for possession of his mind and body - the thing that wrestled with his mind, driving him slowly toward the oblivion of insanity.  His body jerked reflexively.

“You…didn’t make it.” Bumblebee continued, trying to be as gentle as possible with the news.

Spike’s optics expressed his shocked reaction. The statement twisted slowly inside him. Spike shook his head in disbelief. He still could not remember what had happened that would explain the disconnect between arriving with Bumblebee at the Ark entranceway and finding himself in a robot body again.  “What?! No!” he exclaimed helplessly.  “How…?” He felt disbelief and panic jarring him fully to his senses. He could not figure out what everyone was talking about.

Ratchet leaned forward, placing his red hand on Spike’s metallic foot to draw his attention. “We wanted to get you to a hospital, but the Decepticons couldn’t be drawn away in enough time.  You expired here.”

“Lucky for you, my latest invention was able to save you,” Wheeljack chimed, the lamps on either side of his head flashing blue as he spoke.  He moved around from behind Spike’s shoulder to his left side.   “I call it the Spark Cell.  Based on our experience with Autobot X years ago, I was able to adjust my newest device to capture your life force and transform it into a Spark, like we have. The device holds the spark in stasis until the body can be repaired or rebuilt.  I meant it to be for Autobots critically injured in battle to save them from terminal system shutdown.  But as it turned out it had another use.”

Spike was confused.  Ratchet continued, adding to the explanation of events. “Wheeljack put your new body together using your car and our spare parts.”

The words spare parts stuck in his mind, never mind the fact that, a fraction of a second later, he realized this somehow also involved his car. “I’m a freak!” he cried, lacking much else he could think to say that would capture the totality of the situation. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker narrowed their optics, edgily shifting weight from one foot to the other, expecting some action.  All Spike could see was a hint of the twins’ forms, coloration and their blue eyes glowing from the shadows. His optics had adjusted to the bright lights shining on him. He could discern there was one more pair of glowing eyes in the background of Wheeljack’s workshop, but could not quite see who it was. Prime motioned for the two warriors to stand down, and Ironhide checked over his shoulder to make sure the situation with the red and yellow enforcers stayed under control. Sunstreaker crossed his arms and put a big pout on his faceplate.

“No, Spike,” affirmed Optimus. “You have been revived as an Autobot.  You are just like any one of us.  We have given you the best that we could offer, given the circumstances.”

Looking up at Optimus Prime above him, Spike felt small. He felt himself relax in the presence of the towering red and blue Autobot commander. “Where’s Dad?”

“Sparkplug isn’t here, Spike,” Prime replied. 

Spike rolled the statement over in his mind, letting it sink in. At first it did not seem to mean anything in particular; then he reconsidered and the sad truth slowly dawned on him. He lowered himself back down. Of course, he realized, recalling how it had been hard to return to everyday life after his mind had been transferred from Autobot X back to his real body.  There was a distance that his Dad had put between them. Spike had not understood why.  At first, he had thought it was something that he had done.  As time passed, though, little things happened to suggest his Dad thought that Spike had not all come back, or else that Spike was not quite just his son anymore. Sparkplug had never said it out loud, though.  Dad never did quite recover from the ordeal. He blamed the Autobots and their war for me getting hurt.

“He believes you are dead,” Prime summarized.  Spike felt hurt, hurt as though he had lost his father.  What was I trying to do, anyway? He grimaced, slowly recalling that he had wanted to go protect his car, his property. His only property, the only thing worth anything significant that he had.

“Spike,” pleaded Bumblebee, “We can deal with all of this. You can stay here. Stay with us here in the Ark. We’re friends, right Spike?  C’mon.”

“Yeah, Spike,” Ironhide offered in a kind tone, “It’ll be alright.”

Spike lowered his optics.  Despite all the explanations offered, he felt an overwhelming, stunned sadness. “I dunno.  This is all….so much. I don’t know what to say.” His vocalizer cracked. He would have cried if his optics could have let him.

“You could start with ‘thanks’,” Wheeljack suggested.  Ratchet swung at him with the back of his hand and missed.

The third set of eyes in the shadows moved forward, revealing the green scout. Hound, who had patiently said nothing until now, tried to explain.  “I think what Wheeljack’s trying to say is that we just wanted to help, Spike.  No one wanted for things to turn out the way they did.”

Spike made a choking sound.  “What am I supposed to do now?” He felt very still.  It was amazing how still this new body was. No slight movement of breath or undulation of pulse throughout the body.  As a human being it had been so subtle, yet now was noticeably gone.  He did feel a very slight vibration from somewhere inside himself, but it left him with a feeling of being full of energy more than anything else. So many things wanted to come into his mind and be thought at once.  So many things to try to reconcile, to make sense of, but all he ended up thinking of was home and his Dad. He laid back down and stared up at the ceiling, defeated.  What do I do now? 

“You are welcome to stay here with us,” Prime’s voice boomed, soothing some of the sadness.  “We would welcome you as an Autobot.”

“Yeah, Spike,” Bumblebee agreed, “What do you say?”

Maybe this is a dream, Spike mused for a moment.  He slowly sat up again and tested his body, flexing his hands and feeling his arm joints move. As he rose to sit upright, he surveyed the shifting view of the workshop from above the hood of what had been his car, a viewpoint that he never would have imagined he would have. The shock slowly released into the disbelief.  The memory of Autobot X stood like a phantom at the back of his mind, yet his thoughts, he realized, were clear and free this time.  He looked at Wheeljack beside him, who he almost swore could have been smiling if the engineer did not have a mask covering the lower half of his face. Spike traced the path of the wires connecting him to the monitors and console facing Ratchet.

He looked at Bumblebee, who wore an expression of hope.  His yellow and black friend did not look quite as big as he had before.  Actually, he looked smaller.  An expression of relief slowly appeared across Bumblebee’s faceplate. Spike realized that maybe he had raised the corners of his own mouth just a bit at the sight of his friend.    

What options do I have to choose from? he asked himself rhetorically.  Briefly, he thought of his Dad, his old life, school, and Carly.  He wondered what the future would hold for him. I’m still here.  Dad, I can show you I’m here. He did not want it to end like this. “Oh-” Spike spoke hesitantly, looking from one to another at the other Autobots in the room. Somehow they all looked a little smaller than they had looked before, when he was human, “Kay” he finished.

Bumblebee cheered. The answer was met warmly by relief. Hound’s face lit up and Prime lowered his frame in response. It appeared that Spike was of sound mind, or at least as sound mind as anyone could expect at the present moment. At least there would be no rampage against those who put him in this body, like there had been the previous time. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe relaxed and returned to their usual aloof selves.

“Well, Wheeljack, your Spark Cell is a success.” Prime congratulated.  “I’d like to talk with you later about it.” He turned to address the two warriors. “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe - you two may go.”

The red warrior looked over at Spike and a devilish smirk came across his face.  “See you later,” he said. “Let’s go, Sunny.”

“Right on, bro’,” Sunstreaker replied. They left and the door hissed closed behind them.

The atmosphere in the workshop seemed to brighten, and Wheeljack turned up the dimmed workshop lights to their normal lighting level.

Hound offered Spike a friendly smile.

“Ironhide,” ordered Prime, “see that Spike has his quarters adapted for him.”  The red and grey security officer nodded in the affirmative.  “Hound and Bumblebee,” Prime commanded, “You two shall offer your assistance to Spike for the time being.” 

“Sure thing, Prime,” Hound accepted.

“It’s not like you have to ask me twice,” Bumblebee responded with enthusiasm.

Ratchet stood up and disconnected Spike from the monitoring equipment. “You should take care not to do anything too strenuous until you adjust,” the chief medical officer advised Spike.

“Yeah, when you feel like you’re starting to get the hang of things, come back and see me.”  The engineer’s movements became more animated as he spoke. “There are a few things I need to show you.”

“We all want to see you adjust well,” the Autobot commander summarized.  “For now take care and let me know if there is anything you need.”  He turned to face the door, then paused.  “Oh, and Spike, I’ll see if we can do anything to convince Sparkplug to change his mind about you.”

Spike wondered if he should have replied with thanks, but instead simply watched in silence as Optimus and Ironhide left and the doors closed behind them.  It was somewhat of a relief not to have an audience stick around. He looked down, still sad.

“Spike?” Bumblebee asked, noticing that his friend was very quiet. “You okay?”

“Okay?” Spike repeated.  He looked up and met optics with Wheeljack. “Yeah, I’m definitely here.” He shook his head. “I guess I’m just disoriented or something.  This is really weird. I mean, I never thought I’d have to adjust to being dead.” He looked over in Ratchet’s direction, staring incredulously off into the distance behind the chief medical officer.  “And I never thought it’d be like this.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re not here anymore,” Bumblebee clarified. 

Hound broke the awkward silence that followed. “How about we go for a walk? Get some fresh air, Spike?”  The scout had a very comforting human touch that he had worked hard to develop over the years. He positioned himself parallel to Spike, hand on Spike’s shoulder ready to help him stand.

“Your diagnostics get a clean report from me,” Ratchet stated to Spike.  Then he looked very directly at Spike and narrowed his optics slightly.  With his hands on his hip plates, Ratchet mustered up the nicest stern voice possible. “You need to go do something that’s going to make you feel better. You don’t need to hang around here with us boring types.”

Wheeljack was about to automatically agree with Ratchet but stopped short, a single flash of blue indicating his hesitation. The engineer did not consider himself boring, but decided it was not worth contesting the comment.  “…uh, yeah,” he agreed, looking over at Ratchet, who smiled back at him. 

“Oh, I almost forgot to mention,” Wheeljack suddenly remembered. “Don’t stray too far. I didn’t give you any firepower. You wouldn’t want to make yourself a target for the ‘Cons.”  He paused.  “We didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Not to worry, Wheeljack,” Hound answered. “We’ll keep him near the Ark.  Right, Bumblebee?”

“Certainly.”

“Now, how about that walk?”  Hound smiled, and helped Spike to his feet.

Feeling a little surreal, Spike accepted the scout’s assistance and stood up.  He showed Hound a small smile. “Thanks, Hound.” Bumblebee also smiled, relieved to see Spike’s expression brighten.  Spike observed that his height was about equal to Hound’s.  He looked down at Bumblebee, noticing that he was now clearly taller than his yellow and black friend. Spike carefully tested his new legs for the first couple of steps, finding his balance. 

Bumblebee smiled.  Hound patted him on the back. “See, Spike, not so bad now, is it?  We’ll help you adjust.  Now let’s go get that change of scene.”

The three left the workshop, leaving the chief medical officer and engineer alone.

Wheeljack sighed wearily.  “There’s no glory in being an engineer. Never any thanks.  Ah well.”

Ratchet smiled.

Prowl concluded the short interview with Mirage since Mirage was knocked off line by Thundercracker early on in the battle and could lend little different information than he had already collected from the other Autobots. As the slight blue and white Autobot easily slid up and out of the chair in front of the strategist’s desk, Prowl turned his attention to his datapad.  He tapped beside Mirage’s name, officially checking him off his list of interviewees. One Autobot remained on his list: Wheeljack.

He waited until he saw Prime and Ironhide return past his office before he typed in the call to Wheeljack, since he did not want to interrupt their task of bringing Spike on line.  It was a good sign to hear Prime and Ironhide chatting casually since it told him that everything had gone well. It also told him the Spark Cell worked, so he could expect to have a discussion with Prime later about fabricating more of the devices and installing them in anyone willing, as a safeguard. Prowl drummed his fingers on his desk, mentally sorting through the information he had collected as he waited for Wheeljack to come to his office.

The battle data was just not adding up, so he hoped that Wheeljack would mention something that might shed some light on the situation.  There would be plenty of time later to analyze the strengths and weaknesses of each Autobot in his respective role, but for now Prowl’s first priority was to solve the puzzle as to why the Decepticons attacked. He knew that there should be a good reason for it and that he just had not discovered it yet. The mystery behind the enemy’s strategy and the satisfaction he knew he would have when he finally determined the answer drove Prowl to tirelessly pour over the data.

At last, Wheeljack arrived and took the seat in front of the desk. Prowl began by outlining the purpose of the interview, carefully not revealing what information he did and did not have, so as not to influence any story that the engineer would tell him. He plainly requested that Wheeljack recount what he observed and when he observed it.  The strategist had an incredible ability to sort through and recall complex information and could pull out the smallest detail and inquire further about it.  With elbows resting on the desk and the fingertips of each hand lightly balanced against the other’s he listened intently to Wheeljack’s perspective on the battle.

As it turned out, the engineer had seen too little to offer a complete sequence of events of anything that occurred. Wheeljack had done as Prowl ordered him and left the battle room for the munitions store. Unfortunately, he had spent a considerable amount of time there and had missed any opportunity to see what had happened until he arrived with his first load of missiles after Ratchet and Bumblebee had given chase to Ravage. Prowl was disappointed, since none of the information from the Autobots yielded a plausible explanation for the attack.  He stopped Wheeljack from continuing at the point that he said he met Ratchet in the medical bay, since the strategist stated he did not intend to analyze or judge what had happened there. Thanking Wheeljack for his input, he ended the interview and checked off the last name on his list.

When Wheeljack did not rise immediately Prowl inquired further.  “Is there something else?”

“I noticed that you weren’t at my lab when we brought Spike on line.”

Prowl gazed across the desk at the engineer. “My first priority is to decipher the Decepticon’s battle strategy and determine why we were attacked.  Until I know the answer we may be vulnerable.”

Wheeljack was visibly disappointed.  “Well, I guess you’ll find an opportunity to welcome him back.” He rose to leave.  Prowl did not reply, instead focusing his attention back on his datapad as the engineer made his way toward the office door.

“Wheeljack,” Prowl stopped him before he left. “I realize your Spark Cell was a success.  Good work.”

“Thanks.”  Wheeljack had hoped for a little more enthusiasm from the strategist, but any acknowledgment was still appreciated.   

Alone, Prowl leaned back into his chair and pivoted to one side. He stared at the electronic map on the wall that charted the locations where they had intercepted the Decepticons over the years.  Thinking about the sequence in which each attack point had been placed on the map, he could not find a pattern between past attacks on the Ark and attacks on surrounding human facilities that matched the timing of this attack. It seemed strange because nothing of particular interest to the Decepticons was presently going on in the area.  There were no reports of Decepticon activity nearby during or after the attack, meaning that Megatron had not intended for the battle to be a distraction to keep the Autobots occupied with defending themselves while some of the Decepticons raided a power plant for energon.

He wondered if some kind of surveillance had been collected by the Decepticons that had piqued their interest and spawned the assault.  Prowl tapped a finger pensively on the desk.  Perhaps the Decepticons realized that they had a defensive weak spot with the Protectobots and Aerialbots gone and wanted to exploit that. He stopped tapping, pondering whether or not he was on to something. No, that could not be it because they should have used all of their forces, including Bruticus, which they did not.  That would also not explain the Decepticon focus on the Autobot front line.  If the Decepticons had wanted to make an attempt to defeat the Autobots once and for all, Megatron would have ordered a strong attack on the front lines to draw their attention while also concentrating on destroying or burying the Ark with a concentrated assault from behind.  This attack was definitely not focused on the Ark. 

Prowl frowned. It was one thing to be able to weave small conflicts in stories from the other Autobots together to make a cohesive picture.  He understood the profile of each Autobot and how each tended to react on the battlefield and how well each understood and could carry out orders. However, it was another thing to understand the logic behind the Decepticon strategies.  Decepticon motives were more difficult to decipher since individual Decepticons did not always follow their orders and some were very prone to acting under their own direction instead of as a part of a cohesive unit. That was in line with the chaotic principle that the Decepticon cause embraced. 

He turned back in front of his desk, picked up the datapad and scanned the list of names.  Bumblebee’s name caught his attention. Prowl recalled his confusing interview with the minibot. Bumblebee had been very distressed during their conversation and had not been very coherent. He had been focused on his own guilt about what had happened to Spike, and had told the story of how he and Ratchet had tried to get Ravage to let go of Spike. Ratchet confirmed Bumblebee’s story by recounting that he had left Huffer when he heard Rumble’s pile drivers and then found Ravage, Rumble and Frenzy attacking Bumblebee and Spike. But with three Decepticons on one Autobot until Ratchet arrived, why did the Decepticons not do more damage? They could have easily taken on Bumblebee and won. Something was missing from the story.  Prowl realized he needed to talk to Bumblebee again.

Bumblebee was probably with Spike right now, he thought. It would be useful to talk with Spike as well, provided he had some memory of what happened.  Spike was incredibly lucky to be able to discuss what happened. The parallel between the experience that Spike must have gone through and the experience an Autobot would have being resurrected after being stored in Wheeljack’s Spark Cell was clear to him, and he found he could relate to what it might be like to be in Spike’s position.  Without the Spark Cell there was no chance of survival, no chance to warn others about what had transpired to cause termination.  That, Prowl suddenly realized, must have been why Wheeljack thought his device was of strategic importance.  Now, Prowl saw the logic in utilizing the Spark Cell.

On the desk screen to his right, Prowl opened a communication channel with the yellow minibot. He stated that he wanted to discuss what had happened to Bumblebee and Spike during the battle.  Bumblebee took a moment to ask Spike if he was up to talking about the events so soon, then responded to Prowl that Spike indeed wanted to find out what had happened to him.  The black and white Autobot pulled up a second chair in front of his desk and waited.

After Spike and Bumblebee had parted ways with Hound and arrived at his office, Prowl rose to greet them.  It was the first time that Prowl had seen Spike since he and Ratchet had left the hospital after leaving Spike’s human body with the staff, and leaving Prime and Bumblebee to discuss the matter with Sparkplug and the human authorities. Before him was the proof that the Spark Cell worked. He looked upon Spike’s new body. The similarity to his own design was striking, although the vehicle type and coloration differed. He noted that Wheeljack had decided upon a similar helmet design, probably based on what he could find readily available in the Ark’s stores, and had made some minor adaptations for the purpose of differentiation, such as the thin vertical bank of audio sensors that wrapped around either side of the head, and a golden faceplate and optics constructed to approximate Spike’s human features.

“Spike, Bumblebee,” he welcomed them, and then addressing Spike sincerely, “I’m glad to see you here with us again.  I’m sorry about what happened.  You are very lucky to be here today.  That’s more than most could hope for.”

Spike and Bumblebee sat silently, unsure how to respond. Although Bumblebee was doing better with the return of his friend, Spike was still trying to sort himself out and looked disoriented.  Neither of them had put the tragedy behind them nor had adjusted to Spike’s new form.

With a rare friendly smile, Prowl set the tone for their meeting.  “I want to make this as easy as possible for you.  I’ve interviewed everyone now about what happened during the battle and there are a couple of questions that I would like to ask you to help clarify the recollection of events. I’m hoping that either of you can remember something that might answer the question as to why the Decepticons attacked.”

Seeing Prowl in his authoritative role before him, Spike’s mind drifted back to the memory of the black and white Autobot giving orders to Bumblebee, Ratchet and Wheeljack in the battle room.  But Prowl’s soothing voice there in the office pulled him away from the scene playing out inside his mind and brought him back to the room.

“Bumblebee, could you take us through your view of the events again, starting from the point that you and Spike arrived at the entrance to the Ark?” Prowl pivoted his seat and sat back with one forearm resting on the desk in a relaxed pose to ease Bumblebee’s the telling of the story.

Hesitantly, Bumblebee began to explain.  “I, uh, remember looking for Ratchet, and he was down the slope with Huffer. Thundercracker came swooping down and the next thing I knew – there was Ravage.”

“Okay,” Prowl turned to Spike, “Spike, I know it may be difficult for you, but do you remember any of this?”

Spike fumbled for something to say.  “I think I remember Thundercracker because he was so loud.” His optics darted self consciously to Bumblebee to continue the story.

“Right after Ravage, there was Rumble and Frenzy,” Bumblebee continued, disconcerted.  “I don’t know how they got there.”

“Okay, so there’s Ravage, Rumble and Frenzy. Where were they?”  Prowl probed.

“Ravage was…Ravage was behind us,” the yellow minibot recollected. “Rumble and Frenzy were near the side of the entranceway.  I didn’t see them coming.”

Prowl cleared the screen on his datapad and pushed it and a pointer across the desk toward Bumblebee. “Could you draw a quick sketch of where everyone was?”

Bumblebee took the pointer and datapad and marked where everyone was. 

When Bumblebee was done Prowl glanced at the primitive sketch and lifted it for Spike to see.  “Is this what you remember?”

Spike faltered.  He looked at the sketch, but felt confused and disoriented as he tried to remember.  Fear gripped him as a memory of something terrible loomed in his mind and his fuel pump began to surge.  “I…don’t know.  I don’t know.”  He put his hands over his face, scared.

Bumblebee shifted to face his friend, placing his hand on Spike’s shoulder.  “Maybe we shouldn’t be discussing this right now.”

Prowl sat up and leaned forward. “Spike, would you rather talk another time?”

Spike rocked himself, still covering his faceplate with his hands. “I just don’t want to see it.” His words were highly stressed.

“See what?” Prowl inquired.

“Prowl, I don’t think-” Bumblebee began, but Prowl interrupted him by raising his hand.

Spike rocked again for a moment then abruptly stopped, as if he was reliving something.  He slowly took his hands away from his faceplate and looked straight into Prowl’s optics. “Ravage!”  Spike’s vocalizer was filled with raw fear and anger.

Bumblebee gently shook Spike’s shoulder to console him and explained to Prowl. “Ravage attacked him.”

Spike put his head in his hands. He felt terribly scared of the memory of the cat because his injury had been so painful.

Prowl had heard the story before from Bumblebee and he knew the extent of Spike’s injuries since he had seen Spike himself in medical bay afterward.  He decided to try a different tact. “Spike, can you imagine you’re an observer and that you’re watching this happen to someone else?”

A moment passed and Spike recovered himself. “Maybe.  Yeah, that helps a bit.”

“You okay, Spike?” Bumblebee asked, “If it’s too much….”

Spike took Bumblebee’s hand off his shoulder.  “I think, if I’m just watching, then it’s okay.”  He wanted to handle his emotions and find out what happened during the huge gap in his memory. 

“Okay, then Bumblebee, could you take us through what happened next?”  Prowl leaned in with both hands on the desk in front of him.

Bumblebee faced the desk and began to recall the sequence of events more clearly as they played out before his optics. “My gun was knocked from my hands by a blast from Frenzy, and then Rumble knocked me off my feet and it slid further away out of reach.”  He paused, looking down and shaking his head. 

“And what did they do next?” Prowl asked.

“That’s the funny thing, Prowl,” Bumblebee explained, his pitch increasing.  “Rumble said the strangest thing. I can’t make any sense out of it.”

“What did he say?” Prowl coached.

Spike, who had been staring at the floor to avoid meeting optics with Prowl, looked over at his friend, curious about the comment.

“He wondered why I wouldn’t transform.” 

Prowl cocked his head. This piece of information was new, since Bumblebee had neglected to mention anything about a conversation in his previous story. “That is strange.  Do you think he thought you might flee?”

“How could I, with Spike still in Ravage’s grip.”  Bumblebee shrugged.

Prowl considered the meaning of Rumble’s statement.  “Maybe they wanted you out of there for some reason.”

Bumblebee pondered the explanation.  “I don’t know - maybe.  I was flat on my chestplate then. Rumble told Frenzy to fire at me.” His optics brightened as he remembered another part of the conversation.  “Oh yeah, now I remember. They said something about a job they were doing, or something they wanted to get on with.”

Prowl sat up and raised an optic ridge.  “So.  There’s a conflict if they are suggesting you should transform and they also have you trapped and are going to fire at you. They wouldn’t mean for both to occur.  Are you sure there wasn’t someone else there?”

“No, no one else was there.  Just me and Spike.” Bumblebee confirmed. “Ratchet came up from behind them, but that was later.”

Prowl sat back and raised his gaze as he further considered the information. “So to summarize, Frenzy and Rumble want you out of the way, they want someone else to transform from what you say, and they have a job to do.  Interesting.”

Bumblebee shrugged at Spike, who had sunk lower in his seat.

Prowl fixed his gaze back on Bumblebee.  “How about Wheeljack? Could they have seen him driving up to the entrance?”

“I would have heard him. Besides, I saw him much later.”  Bumblebee was perplexed.  “Why is it so important?  Maybe it was just a dumb ‘Con comment.”

A small grin emerged on Prowl’s faceplate. He watched Spike out of the corner of his optics as he talked to Bumblebee. “I don’t think so, Bumblebee.  I’m going to need some time to consider this conversation we’ve had.”

“But what about the rest of the story?” inquired Bumblebee, surprised that Prowl only wanted to hear so little.  “Spike here wanted to know what else happened.”

Prowl smiled politely at Spike and nodded. “We can get into that, if you’re up to it.”

Spike pulled himself back up and nodded. The strategist recounted the events that he had pieced together from the other interviews to describe what had happened to Spike and how he had been rescued by Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, the latter who had been badly injured in the daring rescue, and how Spike was then taken to the medical bay. Prowl described their attempts to force a Decepticon retreat, but most of the battle logic went over Spike’s head. Prowl explained again that the Autobots apologized for the trauma that he had gone through, but that they had done everything in their power to salvage the situation.

“So with that, you are free to go. I don’t have any further questions.” Prowl lifted his hands as if checking what was underneath them on the desktop that he might have forgotten, and returned his gaze to Spike and Bumblebee.

“Well?” Bumblebee looked at Spike and then motioned for them them to leave. 

Spike steadied himself on the arms of the chair with both hands, finding his new balance as he rose to stand. Every trivial movement was like he was doing it again for the first time as he adjusted to his new weight distribution and joint mobility.  Bumblebee offered him a hand, but he refused, saying he was fine.

After Bumblebee and Spike were clearly out of sight of the strategist’s office Prowl got up and left to discuss the conversation with Optimus Prime.  Prime was leaning over Teletraan-1’s main console checking various news reports on the large main screen.  Ironhide relaxed in a chair a short distance away with his feet casually resting on the edge of another console, head tilted against the arm behind his head. Prime’s security chief rolled his head to the side to see the black and white Autobot in his periphery entering the room.

Seeing that it was Prowl, Ironhide pulled his feet off the computer console and sat up, interested in whatever information the strategist might have for them. Prime heard Prowl’s footsteps and turned to see who it was.

Prowl approached the Autobot leader with hands extended as he began to speak.  “Prime, I think I may have found the answer as to why we were attacked.”

“What did those Decepti-cans want this time?” Ironhide snarled.

“I’ve analyzed all the data and I’ve concluded that their main attack was just a distraction for a small infiltration contingent.”

“What?”  Prime and Ironhide both spoke at once. 

“Yes.  It would seem that they were trying to keep us busy so that Frenzy and Rumble could infiltrate the Ark.” 

Ironhide interrupted the strategist. “But what did those two Decepti-creeps want in here?”

“I don’t think it was something down in here that they wanted, Ironhide.” Prowl grinned.

“What were they up to, Prowl?” Prime demanded.

“Well, this is going to sound strange,” Prowl stated, looking from one to the other, “but I think they were after a ‘bot they hadn’t seen before.”

“You aren’t makin’ any sense,” Ironhide chided, slowly shaking his head.

“But-” Prime stared, then his optics widened as he made the connection that Prowl had already made.

Prowl smiled and nodded.

“What? Will you two tell me what’s goin’ on?” Ironhide protested.

“Prime, Ironhide,” the strategist began with confidence. “It appears they had faulty intelligence that Spike’s car was a ‘bot.”

Prime stood very still, taking in this critical piece of information. 

“But what would make them think that?” asked Ironhide.

Prowl explained to the red and grey security chief.  “Two things, Ironhide.  First, Spike has not brought his own car here before – in the past Bumblebee or another Autobot drove him.  So, if they’ve been spying on us they would have seen him and thought he was riding in an Autobot.”

“Aw, that’s nuts.” Ironhide put his hands on his hip plates and looked away in disbelief.

“No, Ironhide, I think I know what Prowl’s getting at.”  Prime looked from Ironhide to Prowl.  “Continue.”

“The second reason, and the one that I believe is the most significant, is,” Prowl hesitated to make sure that Ironhide was listening as well.  “Spike put an Autobot symbol on his back window and they saw it.”

The conclusion struck Prime like a boulder.  “You’re sure of all of this, Prowl?”

“It’s the only logical conclusion,” the strategist confirmed.  “The timing of the attack was coincident with Spike’s arrival here. I think Ravage was sent to distract whoever was guarding the entrance, where his car was parked.  I’m not sure, but they may have even deliberately focused on injuring Huffer because they knew it would get Ratchet out of the way.”

“You’re saying we were played for suckers.” Ironhide clenched his fists in anger at the Decepticons.  “That sizzles my circuits.”

“They were looking for a new recruit,” Prowl concluded, then shrugged. “They’ve done it before.”

“Those rusty-brained scrap scroungers…why didn’t they pick on someone like me?” cursed Ironhide, pointing at himself with his thumb.

“I think they know that you wouldn’t be interested,” the strategist laughed dryly.

Prime mulled over the implications.  “That means, that if they were looking for an Autobot that transformed into his car, then…”

“Oh no,” Ironhide lost his anger suddenly as he made the connection.

Prime continued emphatically.  “…Spike’s still in danger.”

Prowl offered his opinion of the present circumstances.  “Prime, if I could suggest – even if Wheeljack had given him another transformation mode, they may still seek him out as a potential Decepticon recruit.  They would have been interested in any ‘bot of unusual origin, not necessarily one that looked like Spike’s car.  All Spike has to do is make his intentions clear.”

Ironhide looked up at the Autobot leader.  “I thought you said Spike didn’t have any weapons.”

“That’s correct Ironhide,” Prime replied.  “We can’t risk Spike’s safety in this time of transition by arming him.”

A sneer appeared on Ironhide’s faceplate as he thought about the Decepticons trying to manipulate Spike into joining them.  It angered him that Megatron had tried to twist Spike’s mind while he was confused in the body of Autobot X and nearly succeeded in turning Spike against the Autobots.  “You’ve got a dilemma, Prime, ‘cause he ain’t no safer without any way to defend himself against the ‘Cons.”

“I agree,” Prowl affirmed. “At least he should have some form of protection.”

Prime crossed his arms.  “For everyone’s safety, I will only allow Spike to be armed once he has shown that he is of sound mind.  Until the time that I am convinced of this he shall be protected by us instead.” He fixed his gaze on his security officer. “Ironhide, I want you on a special detail to watch over Spike.  I don’t want him leaving our security perimeter.”

Ironhide nodded. “I guess you’ll take care of yourself for awhile.”

“I’ll be just fine, old friend.  You’re the best Autobot to watch out for Spike.”

Optimus Prime’s security chief left to go find Spike, leaving the strategist with Prime.

After seeing the red and grey Autobot depart, Prowl addressed Prime. “Is now a good time to discuss the Spark Cell?”

“I thought you’d eventually get to that.” The Autobot leader’s vocalizer had a jovial tone.

Prowl looked up at the tall Autobot leader before him. “I now understand the significance of Wheeljack’s remark about the strategic importance of the Spark Cell.”

Prime placed his fists on his hip plates, listening to his strategist.

“It would be a valuable tool for the purpose of collecting information from those that would not otherwise survive in battle. That information may contain warnings or other important intelligence. After seeing Spike today, I think Wheeljack proved his Spark Cell.”

Prime tilted his head to the side, curious about Prowl’s opinion.  “And what did you surmise of Spike’s condition?” 

Prowl crossed his arms and put an index finger to his chin, thinking back to the recent meeting. “He seems to be stable.” He narrowed his optics, considering Spike’s behavior during the interview. “Obviously he’s going to find this difficult, but I did not detect any aggression. It’s a good sign.”

Prime was relieved to hear from Prowl that Spike was doing well. “Wheeljack did a good job,”  he concluded. Deep down, Prime trusted Wheeljack’s ability.  The engineer was very competent and he knew that Wheeljack had the skill to provide a well constructed body and brain unit for their human friend.

“Perhaps to get to the point,” the strategist continued, “I advise that we use Wheeljack’s Spark Cell.”

Prime laughed. Sometimes Prowl was too serious for his own good.  “I thought it would be a good idea, too, Prowl.”

For a split second, Prowl appeared surprised by Prime’s response, but quickly relaxed and revealed the smallest of smiles.

Elsewhere in the Ark, Spike slouched on the edge of the bunk, staring at the floor of what had previously been his guest room, but was now his quarters.  Bumblebee had pulled out the Autobot sized chair from in front of the entertainment console and turned it to face the bunk. He sat there to chat with his friend, who had grown sullen since their discussion with Prowl.  Bumblebee sat there with Spike, unsure what to say.  A long moment of silence passed and Spike’s frame rose and then sunk as if he had let out a long sigh.  His mouth hung open slightly and his optics were full of sadness. At last, Bumblebee could not stand it any longer.

“Spike, I’m…” he started, and the despondent golden face slowly looked up at him.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Spike responded, more as a statement than a question. His sad expression shifted, revealing an edge of bitterness underneath. “I was the stupid one that got myself into this mess.”

Bumblebee shook his head, refusing to believe the statement. “What are you talking about?” he asked with an increasing vocalizer pitch.

Spike furrowed his optic ridges and curled his fingers into his legs.  “I shouldn’t have parked in that stupid place, but I was tired and I wasn’t thinking.”  Images of himself and Bumblebee carrying his stuff from his car down into the base danced before his mind’s optic, teasing him with other possibilities. Why did he not just drive down further and avoid carrying everything so far? Sure, every human being that ever visited the Ark always parked near the entrance to the base. No Autobot wanted his home to become a human parking lot, with obstacles in the hallways or rooms.  Spike considered himself the Autobots’ best human friend, so they should not have minded if he drove his car down for a little while, then moved it back up to the entrance later.  If he had done that, then everything would have been different. Looking at the situation in hindsight made him furious as he saw how avoidable his injuries could have been.  His optics glowed vibrantly and anger now emerged in the tone of his vocalizer.  “I should have listened to everyone when they said it was too dangerous. I shouldn’t have cared about my stupid car!” “I should have, have -” he clenched his fists and shook his head, too angry to continue.

Bumblebee defensively raised his hands, concerned that Spike was not just a little mad, but about to go over the edge like he did years ago when he inhabited an Autobot body. He remembered how unstable the mind transfer process had been, and hoped that Wheeljack had fixed whatever the problem was. This new body that Wheeljack constructed using Spike’s car was smaller than the formidable frame of Autobot X, but still larger than the minibot, a detail not lost on Bumblebee in the present moment.

Spike raised his tensed arms, forming an intimidating pose and, with his fists still clenched tightly, looked down at himself with a look of absolute fury. “Now I am my car!”  Spike met optics with Bumblebee and the anger immediately crumbled into futility.  He hid his faceplate with his hands and crumpled into a heap, sounding like he was crying.

It was a strange sound, one that an Autobot would not normally make. Bumblebee recognized the doleful sound of human sadness.  He could not help but be saddened also. Quietly, Bumblebee expressed his own guilt to Spike.  “I was responsible for your safety.”

Spike’s opinion about Bumblebee’s responsibility for protecting him was not clear, since the statement went unacknowledged. Images from Prowl’s description of events during the recent battle jarred his mind.  He struggled to both imagine what had happened to him and to shut out the unbelievable yet disturbing ideas from his mind. How could Prowl simply state everything as if they were mere facts? Although Spike needed to hear what had happened so that he could make sense of why he was a robot instead of a human being, he now wished that he had not heard the description because his mind tried to conjure up all sorts of ideas as to how he could have received a broken leg and a life threatening head wound. Some of the images were gory.  He pressed his hands more firmly against his optics, trying to shield himself from the view.  He couldn’t believe that this was real, that the Spike he knew was dead. It couldn’t be.  He wanted to see his body for himself.  Maybe one of the Ark’s surveillance cameras had recorded it.  The gory body he imagined returned to his mind’s optic, and he shuddered. On second thought, that would not be a good last image to have of his former self.

Sadness and futility swelled up and Spike’s shoulders heaved up and down, in synch with the crying sounds he made. Each sudden movement caused the front wheel tires behind his shoulders to rotate ever so slightly in response.  Concerned that Spike was not able to pull himself together, Bumblebee joined his friend on the edge of the bunk and put his hand on Spike’s jerking shoulder, which seemed to ease its unusual movement.

“Spike?  It’s okay.” Bumblebee spoke in a soft tone to gently console his friend. “You’re okay.”

Spike shook his head slowly. A pang of deep remorse stung him as he thought about his vanishing dreams for the future. He regretted the argument that ultimately led to his break up with Carly. Had he been too hard headed? Spike rooted his feet firmly into the floor to ground himself as a swell of remorse and loss overwhelmed his systems upon thinking that he had lost all future love in his life.  Who will ever love me now? No one wants a robot.  Not even Dad. The last thought had occurred so quickly that it scared him.  He tightened the joints of his metallic body in response.

Bumblebee observed Spike’s body locking its joints, and pitied him.  He pondered what would help bring Spike through his grief and come to see a new future, one populated by his Autobot friends and most reasonably, Sparkplug too.  What would a human being do in a situation like this? He searched his memory banks for something he had seen humans say to or do with each other that he could do to console Spike. An idea came to mind, one that seemed quite simple and obvious. Bumblebee edged closer to Spike, who was still crumpled into the smallest heap he could manage, covering his faceplate as he sulked. The minibot reached his arms around Spike, who was just a bit too wide for him to reach all the way.  Spike immediately pulled away from Bumblebee’s attempt to hug him.  The minibot withdrew his offer of compassion and stood up quickly out of surprise.

Bumblebee had succeeded in jolting Spike to his senses.  Spike took his hands away from his faceplate and pressed his body against the wall at the far end of the bunk, staring at Bumblebee with shock and disbelief.  “What are you doing?!”

Flustered by Spike’s response, he searched to understand why Spike was offended. “I was…was…well, isn’t that what humans do when they care?”

Spike could see that Bumblebee was confused. Spike felt raw and did not want to be comforted any more by anyone.  He wanted to be in the moment with his emotions, to let them flow through him. An expression of sternness crossed his faceplate, and he glared at Bumblebee.

Still confused about Spike’s reaction, but clear that his friend was silently telling him to leave, Bumblebee reluctantly acquiesced.  “Well I guess you know what’s best, Spike.  I’ll leave you alone.” The door opened and Bumblebee turned, pausing in the doorway, the hope that he had felt before now disintegrating. He felt terrible about not being able to help his friend, but realized that this was one of those times when it was better not to do anything more.  “Spike, we’re still friends, aren’t we?”

The glare softened, optics cast down at an invisible point near the floor; Spike had nothing to say. Impassive like a statue, he did not even notice Bumblebee leave. Spike was left alone with his thoughts.

The quiet of the room was suffocating. Pain and anguish tormented his mind until he became disoriented. He firmly gripped the edge of the bunk and rooting his gaze on one corner of the room to anchor himself against the disorientation from a growing inner turmoil, but the corner of the room began to sway with him instead of staying still.  With widening optics and a sudden panic at the prospect of losing control, Spike searched for something he could do go grasp back that control.

His optics darted around the room, searching for something to hold him still.  At last he remembered a trick he had used once or twice for keeping himself awake for a long period of time.  He stared directly into the overhead lights with intense deliberation, hoping the bright intensity would shock his senses with a strong enough experience to give his mind something to hang onto, so that he would not be pulled away into the fray of the emotional storm.  But the feeling of loss deepened with his recognition that this was forever.  Like Bumblebee had said earlier in Wheeljack’s workshop, there was no going back. What was the point of everything that he had worked hard for in his life? It was all for nothing in the end. The thought ached in his mind. He continued staring into the light, opening his optics further as they relentlessly adjusted to the bright light until he felt he had total control over his experience of sight. That success gave him some shelter from his pain.

The panic’s edge eased away, gradually yielding to a luxurious moment of stillness, allowing Spike to relax.  Taking his optics off the lights, they readjusted quickly under his control so that he could see everything in the room immediately with ease.  His optics locked onto his palms, watching them disappear and reappear as his fingers slowly closed tightly into fists around them and then flexed back open.  The joints of his fingers operated so smoothly and so quietly that, he mused, it was almost as if they weren’t machines.  Focusing on his body was good because it temporarily deadened his mind.

He let his gaze play beyond his hands down to his legs.  Closing his optics, he listened as he adjusted the position of his knees and feet. So quiet.  Autobot technology really was marvelous in its sophistication.  Human beings could never make something so elegant, so strong.  He opened his optics.  Yes, he was strong, stronger than he had been before, not weaker. A strange smile pried at the corner of his mouth, tempting him to enjoy the thought of such great strength.  He had thought about what it would be like to be an Autobot many times before and enjoyed the fantasy.  He had briefly experienced it once before out of pure chance, and although his memory was hazy in places, there was part of him that actually missed the experience.  Now this was real, and it was forever.

In one smooth, continuous movement, Spike rose from the bunk.  He focused on his arms and legs as he moved, feeling the hydraulic power within his limbs. The smile crept further, and he fought it less.  He found that he was starting to get the hang of his new body, and movements were becoming easier and more natural.  Looking toward the door, Spike took notice of the full length mirror that Ironhide installed for him.  Ironhide must have thought it an obvious choice for a human being and, after all, Spike was really still a human being.  He just did not look like one.     

Spike had not looked at his new self yet.  Nor did he know what it would be like to see his new self looking back at him. Remembering the monstrous form of Autobot X, the expression “beaten with an ugly stick” came to mind. He feared being ugly or disfigured.  It was a cruel fate to be locked in that hideous body, so it was a good thing when the Autobots disassembled his father’s creation out of respect for anyone unfortunate to end up even temporarily inhabiting that junk heap.  Regarding the mirror from a distance, a slight uneasiness came over him, but curiosity overruled it, so he cautiously crept toward its awaiting reflective surface.

Gingerly moving the first half of his metallic body in front of the mirror, but careful not to see his own face yet, he eagerly watched the reflection. The white forearm and black hand appeared first, painfully reminding him of the similar colored arm of Autobot X, so he jerked the arm away so that he could not see it in the reflection. Spike closed his optics and lowered his head.  He could feel the throb of the fuel pump inside his chest responding to his scare. After a moment, he opened his optics again and was reminded that his body was not Autobot X as he gazed down at the black hood in front of him.  Regaining his composure, he furrowed his optic ridges and clenched his right fist.  Okay, let’s try this again.

Slowly, Spike reached his left arm in front of the mirror, watching the real one all the while as if he did not quite trust it.  He flexed the black hand at the end of the white forearm, testing that it moved in response to his direction.  It did, which sent a prickly surge creeping through his systems.  He dropped his arm to his side and, sliding further in front of the mirror, reached down with the same hand to gently touch the car back window panel that was attached to his shin.  Unreal.  The half of the robot in the mirror was doing everything he was telling it to do. 

So far, so good.  Spike straightened and flexed the leg in the reflection, inching himself further in front of the mirror. As he did he could not help but notice that he was involuntarily flexing the servos controlling the car door panels behind his shoulders.  He abruptly stopped his sideways slide and, looking over his shoulder, concentrated on moving the doors with his thought.  A slight smile returned as he watched the humorous wing-like backward and forward movement of the doors.  As Spike flexed them first all the way back and then all the way perpendicularly forward, he saw their potential to express himself, as he had seen the Autobots with similar car door panels do.

Turning back to the half of himself in the mirror and feeling comfortable with the image, he realized it was time to take the plunge and see the rest of him, to look into his own optics. He clenched both fists in determination and, with chin tilted down and tightly furrowed his optic ridges, he raised his shoulders, readying himself. Doubt crossed his mind, but he focused, closing his optics once again, and slid one big footstep further in front of the mirror before stopping.

He thought that he would slowly open his optics, but as soon as he caught his first glance, his optics snapped wide open at what stood before him. All of his joints loosened immediately and, with a numb mind, he took in the alien figure staring, dumbfounded, back at him. Is that me? The only thing familiar about the motionless black Autobot in the mirror were the parts of his car that he recognized in its chassis. His optics locked onto the chestplate, and he noted that the hood of his car was cleaner and shinier than the last time he remembered seeing it as part of a whole car. Bravely, he flicked his gaze up and made contact with his own optics.

Spike’s mouth dropped open.  The reflection copied him.  The piercing blue glow of the optics was penetrating and he winced as it forced him to look away. That’s not me. That can’t be me. His fuel pump ramped a little higher as panic seized at his fuel lines.  Involuntarily, his fists clenched.  It had to be a strange Autobot he had seen, not himself.  It was a symmetrical robot, and not something that looked like it was thrown together in haste.  Slowly he fully opened his optics, and could see the soft blue glow reflected in his periphery. Spike ran his gaze up the door in front of him and then up the wall above, following the lines in the metallic surface. Curiosity fought against the fear and he could not stop himself from turning back to take another look.

With the initial shock passed, looking at his new body the second time was easier. Spike regarded his form. I look sort of like Prowl. He watched his reflection pull a face in distaste at the thought. He then smiled at the strange expression in the mirror, which also changed to match his shifting facial features.  Running his hand over the smooth contour of his metallic face, he noted the most obvious difference was that Wheeljack had given him a golden faceplate. None of the Autobots had a golden faceplate, but then again, he was not like any of the Autobots. 

Spike took a step toward the mirror to take a closer look at the cool looking faceplate, but froze when he realized how close he was to those intense blue optics looking back at him.  He turned his head so that he regarded the faceplate through one optic.  It’s only me, he reassured himself, and relaxed his frame in response. He scrutinized the shape of the faceplate, recognizing that it bore a slight resemblance to his human face.  That must have been deliberate. But the whole head, complete with a white helmet and red chevron, and those unnerving optics, looked like they belonged to someone else, a real Autobot.  Shaking his head in denial, he refused the idea that the figure in front of him was truly him.

I’m not a robot. He backed up from the mirror, and looked at the image for some sign that it was only a costume and that he was inside there somewhere. But where? He reached out to gently touch the mirror, placing his palm against the palm of the robot in the reflection.  Where am I? As his optics searched the robot for somewhere in its form that he could place himself, the futility of trying to answer the question seeped into his mind.  He asked himself the same question again, but this time he was answered by the memory of Wheeljack’s response back in the lab: well, obviously you’re right here.  Those words carried the weight of the reality standing before him.  I’m right here.   

An image of Ravage dragging his limp body down the rocky terrain formed in his mind, and he could not help but feel helpless and frail, knowing that no one had been able to help him. Even in the present moment, with all his new strength, he could not change anything that happened. His life had been taken, and then he had been reformed without his consent. It’s not fair, not fair! Struck by the awesome magnitude of his helplessness, he hugged himself and doubled over.  The image of Ravage burned in his mind, reminding him that was how he was transformed from Spike the human being into Spike the alien robot in the mirror that he did not even recognize as himself.  As his mind ran through these thoughts, the expression on the robot’s faceplate grew long and desperate. His memory was still blank from the time that he had reached out for his car door. Ravage, though, summoned up a new and formidable terror from deep within him.  Spike had a vague sense that his own mind might be blocking him from remembering the painful experience. The terror was something that he did not have enough strength to fight.  He had been targeted by Ravage many times before, but never had any truly serious harm come to him.  Had he just been lucky? The heaviness of his present condition weighed on him.

He reached out with his left hand to steady himself on the wall, and glanced sideways at the door frame. Seeing the manual lock for the door, he punched it closed, not wanting to be disturbed.  It was not like any of the Autobots knew anything about what he was going through, anyway.  Seriously, how could they help him?  Spike knew he was alone. 

Shifting his gaze back towards the bunk, he shut his optics. A wave of lonely sadness welled up, reminding him that he had no where else to go and nothing left of his former life to return to.  It hurt that his Dad rejected what Wheeljack had done. As much as Spike himself wanted to deny what had become of him, he needed his Dad now.

Spike slunk back to the bunk and dropped himself down heavily on its edge. He thought about what he must have looked like in the medical bay.  As he imagined Ratchet and Wheeljack watch him pass away, his shoulders began to jerk again as he sobbed to himself.  Why did I care so much about my car? He begged himself for an answer that would still his searching mind. His car was only his biggest and best worldly possession, and he could not afford to lose it and start over. But that seemed too inane and simple to suffice as an answer.  His frame heaved with each growing audible sob. What a steep price to pay? Now he would have the rest of eternity to be reminded of his choice by his new attachment to his car.

All that hard work studying! He may as well have gone out and enjoyed himself instead. There would never be a day when he would graduate, get his own place, get married, have kids, grow old.  Will I even get to see Dad again? His expression sagged and his mouth fell open. Images from his life began to play tantalizingly in his mind’s eye.

As he watched them, the memory of his recent human self appeared almost magical in comparison to the heavy machinery into which he was deposited. The human Spike appeared more perfect than he had ever thought of himself in his previous life. He reflected on his human life.  What had he done to deserve this?  Spike’s faceplate contorted as his mind drew a blank. Then it relaxed. There was that strange dream he had before waking up in Wheeljack’s workshop.  Did that mean anything?  He had sort of been dead, after all.  Spike shook his head, dismissing the idea.  No, I was no more dead then than I am now. Or no more dead now than then. The line of reasoning was confusing. Or whatever. I’m not dead.

“Yeah, man,” he sighed, “I’m right here.”  Spike’s metallic voice echoed in the barren room.

Barren, that is, except for the fridge and table that were tucked away against the wall. Spike had not noticed them there until now.  Full of curiosity, he knelt down in front of the fridge, and carefully opened it with one large finger, just to see what was inside.  A draft of cool air wafted over his hand.  The familiar feeling his sensors gave him put him at ease.  Bending down low to the floor to look inside, Spike saw that the fridge was empty except for a lone bottle.

“Strange.  What’s that?” He picked up the small cubic fridge with one hand and dumped its contents into the palm of his other hand.  Putting the fridge back down and closing the door again gently, he returned to the edge of the bunk to look at what he had found.  His large fingers delicately pinched the tiny bottle, turning it around to read its label: ketchup.

Initially surprised, Spike’s faceplate twisted as the whole situation that led him to being in this predicament was rudely brought back to his attention.  He ground the gearing in his jaw mechanism, his temper quickly flaring. The bottle hurled against the wall with hurricane force and spattered into an ugly red mess. Optics narrowed into slits and possessed by anger, Spike raised a foot and pounded it into the floor, causing a loud crash.  He was furious and helpless all at once, and could do nothing to stop it.

A shadowy figure emerged in his mind’s eye, laughing at him. It bore the silhouette of that robot monster he had become, that had begun possessing his mind years ago. It laughed at him in his moment of weakness, as if offering him the strength that he needed to continue on. The irresistible temptation not to be swallowed by his own pit of despair overwhelmed him and he found himself involuntarily laughing, quietly at first.  As his confidence grew, the laugh grew louder and he threw his head back, heartily enjoying the moment.

Ironhide noticed the door lock light on Spike’s quarters.  He supposed he should let Spike know that he was there. The security chief was just about to knock when he heard the loud crash from inside, followed by laughter.

“You in there, Spike?” Ironhide called with concern. He readied himself in case he needed to break down the door. His fists retracted and his liquid nitrogen jets locked into place within his forearms.

The laughter was broken by Spike’s response. “Yeah, Ironhide, I’m here.”

Something did not sound right. “Well, uh, you alright in there? I heard a crash.” 

There was an unusually long pause before Spike responded again.  “Um, it’s nothing.” Grinning at the locked door, Spike fought to keep the twitch at the corner of his mouth from erupting into laughter again.  Ironhide has no clue. “Nothing’s wrong.  I just want to be alone for awhile.” 

Ironhide regarded the locked door. He was not sure what was going on in there, but it was Spike’s room and not really his business as long as Spike was not in any danger. He unlocked and retracted his liquid nitrogen jets and returned his fists to the ends of his forearms. “Okay, Spike.  Just thought I should let you know that Prime assigned me to you.  So I’ll be hanging around for awhile.”

Spike’s expression became more serious.  “I thought that’s what Bumblebee and Hound were doing.”

The red and grey security chief answered through the door. “Yeah, well this is different. You ain’t got no weapons to protect yourself and I do. No offense meant, but Hound and Bumblebee don’t have the experience that I have, either.”

Spike’s optics narrowed. So, Prime reassigned his bodyguard.  What’s the danger inside the Ark?  Is it the other Autobots? There certainly aren’t any Decepticons around… unless they don’t trust me. He lowered his optics. Wheeljack had basically said that was why he was not given any weaponry.  That made Spike feel all the more like he wanted to be alone for awhile.  Although the Autobots probably already knew everything about what had happened to him, he was not ready to face them yet in this new body.  That could wait for awhile.      

***

Deep within their underwater headquarters, the Decepticons were completing the last of their repairs from their battle with the Autobots. Since the Constructicons received heavier damage than first thought, it was up to the other Decepticons to use their limited abilities to get the Constructicon repair team up and functioning again first.  The lack of repair expertise took much time.  However, the basic repairs the others made were sufficient to allow the Constructicons to finish their own repairs and help the other injured Decepticon warriors.

Coming up with the necessary parts to fix Thundercracker required a raid of an Air Force base. Since Skywarp was not sure what parts the Constructicons needed to fix his comrade, he and Dirge retrieved and entire F-15 jet. Anything not used could always come in handy some other time.

As Skywarp waited nearby with arms crossed, looking upon the work of the Constructicons with smug indifference, the repairs to the blue Seeker were finally nearing completion. Thundercracker’s facial apparatus had been so badly damaged that it needed extensive repairs beneath his faceplate. Skywarp promised himself he was going to personally pound the slag out of that red Autobot showoff at the next opportunity in payment for what he did to Thundercracker.

Scrapper had the blue Decepticon’s faceplate on a table, electrically stimulating the metal microstructure to return to its memory shape.  He applied the voltage across varying paths to tease out the edges of the deep pile-driver shaped scallop, but the center was too deep. Cursing the Autobots, the Constructicon pulled out a blunt tool, flipped the faceplate over and began hammering.

Thundercracker rotated his new optic sensors in Scrapper’s direction.  Without a faceplace, the movement of his repaired facial mechanisms yielded no obvious expression.  “Hey! That’s my faceplate!” the blue Seeker scorned.

Scrapper looked up in surprise.  “Would you rather wear that scar around for everyone to see instead?”

Skywarp grunted a laugh.

Thundercracker was not deterred. “Don’t beat my faceplate like a piece of this mud ball planet.”

Hook waited for the outcome of the verbal exchange before installing Thundercracker’s new red optic lenses.  The Constructicon spun one of the hexagonal glass lenses expertly on the tip of one finger as he coolly bided his time.

Scrapper was not about to be ordered around by one of the Seekers. “Let me remind you that you need me, and I’ll beat your faceplate until I’m done.” The Constructicon engineer glared at the blue Seeker.  Hook spun the optic lens with his other hand to keep it twirling.

Thundercracker looked to Skywarp for backup, but the black Seeker was not about to intercede.  Finally frustrated, Thundercracker spat out an incomprehensible curse and unclenched his fists.  Putting up with such indignity from the Constructicons almost made him wish he had a battle mask to cover his faceplate, as ugly as one would be.

Thundercracker tried to avoid wincing at the sound of every metallic blow to his faceplate, since his movement made it nearly impossible for Hook to install his new optic lenses. Eventually, the hammering stopped when Scrapper was able to return the metal to a contour that he was able to work with using the more sophisticated method. Just as Hook clicked the right lens into its mounting clamps, a silver object hurtled over the blue Seeker and was barely caught by Hook.

Thundercracker looked up to see Hook holding his repaired faceplate. Losing his patience with Scrapper, he tried to raise himself, but Hook held him down. Scowling, Thundercracker cursed, “Why, I’m going to rip his bucket off. We’ll see how he likes that.” 

Hook pressed a button on the repair table and automated shackles wrapped around Thundercracker’s forearms, forcing him to stay put.  “Uh- uh,” the Constructicon above him wagged a finger and chided. “You still need your faceplate installed.” Scrapper laughed.

The Constructicons’ repair methodology was nothing new to Skywarp, but he was growing tired of their pathetic treatment of his comrade. If they tried one more petty stunt to humiliate Thundercracker he would step in to set those Constructicons straight.  The fingers of one hand drummed against the opposite arm’s elbow as he waited.

Hook was painstakingly meticulous in attaching Thundercracker’s reformed faceplate.  The Constructicon surgical engineer seemed to check each point two or more times.  “Are you done already?” asked Thundercracker impatiently. 

The Constructicon was unapologetically right in Thundercracker’s face. “Just hold still, or you’ll be sorry. I’m putting the finishing touches on your faceplate.”

Thundercracker narrowed his optics, glaring at Hook. He was sure that the Constructicons were done and that they were just playing with him now. “I don’t need you to make me look pretty.”

Hook withdrew his mitering tool and laser scalpel. Why apply his mastery of skill on a ruffian who did not know the value of such high quality repairs? He retracted the shackles, and Thundercracker pushed him away as the Seeker quickly got up.

“Thankless grunt,” hissed Scrapper.  “Hook, next time weld his mouth shut.”

Thundercracker massaged his forearms where the shackles had scuffed the black paint. “Who asked your opinion, dirt digger?” he snapped as he joined Skywarp.

Skywarp kricked the gearing in his neck as he quickly snapped his head to the side and back. With a sneer he rubbed one fist menacingly in his other hand.  He finally had enough of the Constructicons and, with Thundercracker’s repairs completed, nothing could hold him back.  “What do you say we show these louts who’s better than who, hey Thundercracker?”

The heated threats caught the attention of other Decepticons nearby who were within audible range. They entered the Constructicons’ repair gallery and began picking sides. As the growing contingent of spectators jeered them on, the Seekers and the two Constructicons began to circle each other, eagerly looking for the right moment to strike first.  Megatron’s approaching footsteps were not heard by the combatants.

Seeing their leader enter the repair gallery flanked by Starscream and Soundwave, the spectators quickly lost interest in the fight.  With a thin smile, Megatron acknowledged his saluting warriors and stopped behind the tensed Seekers, hands confidently resting on his hip plates. 

Scrapper and Hook could not see who was behind the two large jets, but the saluting crowd made it clear that the fight was off. Both Constructicons quickly stood at attention, also in salute.  Thundercracker and Skywarp exchanged bewildered looks as Megatron’s voice lashed them from behind.  “Save it for the Autobots.”

Skywarp spun around and apologized, bowing his head. “Megatron, my leader.” The black Seeker ribbed Thundercracker, signaling him to salute.

With the last of the Decepticons’ repairs complete it was time to move on with the next angle in Megatron’s plan to seduce the newcomer Autobot to their side.  Too much time spent inactive meant that his warriors would look for combat action with each other, rather than focusing their efforts on wiping out the Autobots and extracting Earth’s resources for Cybertron. Megatron wanted to know from where this Autobot came, as there may be some new portal back to Cybertron, of which he was yet unaware.  If that were the case, perhaps this newcomer could lead the Decepticons back to the portal.  Under Decepticon control, a portal would both prevent Prime from summoning rebel reinforcements from their home world and Megatron could use it as a conduit for transporting energon and supplies and shoring up their numbers on Earth to finally rid themselves of the troublesome Autobots.

Megatron addressed his audience with a cool and cunning tone, soothing to Decepticon audio sensors. “I have not finished with that newcomer. I want to know where he came from and if there are any others who would follow him here.” Megatron raised his arm and clenched his fist for everyone to see, visually grasping the audience. “And to have that, he must be made a Decepticon.” His clipped demand produced a murmur of patriotic sentiment.

The Decepticon leader faced his dark blue communicator.  “Soundwave, send Laserbeak to spy on the Autobots. I want to know where that newcomer goes, and when he is alone…”  Megatron planted his fist into the palm of his other hand.  “…then he will face us.”

Soundwave paused with a finger hovering over the eject button on the top left side of his chassis and spoke to his dormant minion inside in his metallic, pitch-shifting drone.  “Laserbeak, prepare for flight.  Operation: surveillance.  Report the whereabouts of the Autobot newcomer. Inform when he is separate from the other Autobots so the Decepticons can approach without being drawn into battle.”

Soundwave pressed the eject button and a cassette launched from his open chest cavity, transforming midair into the cawing form of Laserbeak. The other Decepticons watched as the robotic bird quickly flew out of the repair gallery toward the intake tower.

A large, dark cylindrical shape emerged from the inky depths with a sudden eruption of frothy waves as it broke the surface of the ocean.  The silhouette of the Decepticon headquarters docking tower grew taller until the top chamber was high above the ocean that rolled by its central column.  Standing proud of the ocean surface, one of the finned chamber sections angled open, and Laserbeak emerged, tiny in comparison to the huge metal column leading back down to Decepticon headquarters. The spy’s metallic wings glittered in the rosy sunset reflected off the ocean surface.

***

The western horizon glowed faintly green as the very last light from the set sun disappeared for the day and the twinkling stars of evening dotted the dark blue canopy above.  A symphony of crickets stirred the otherwise quiet evening air as night emerged.  Scattered across the mountainside near the Ark were several pairs of small, soft blue lights hovering above the dark landscape. Occasionally, one of the pairs would disappear and then reappear, or shift slightly, the only evidence of the evening guard.

Many hours had passed since Hound last saw Spike.  He assumed that Bumblebee was still with him until recently, when he learned that some sort of disagreement had taken place between the two and that actually Spike had been alone ever since. It was strange that the two were not getting along. Hound could not remember seeing them as anything but good friends, the kind of true friendship that anyone would wish for. So, the scout decided he should stop by Spike’s quarters and see how he was doing.  Besides, Prime wanted him to keep Spike company.

As Hound neared Spike’s quarters, he noticed a familiar red and grey Autobot slumped in a chair next to the door.  One arm rested on his lap while the other hung limply by his side.  Hound’s soft metallic footsteps did not alert the Autobot, and the scout stopped right in front of Ironhide before Ironhide roused himself.

“Hmm?  Hey, who goes there?” Ironhide inquired as he powered back up.  He appeared confused about where he was and what was going on, then finally surprised to suddenly find Hound standing in front of him wearing a quaint smile.  “Oh, it’s you, Hound. You must have snuck up on me.”

“Sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you, Ironhide,” the scout apologized. 

“Aw, you didn’t scare me.  It takes a heck of a lot more than that to shake old Ironhide.  I just didn’t know you were there until, well, you were there.”  Ironhide tilted his head to one side as he spoke to Hound. “So, what’s going on?”

“I just wanted to see how Spike was doing. I heard he had a tiff with Bumblebee.”

Hound’s news was new to the security chief.  He knew that Spike was alone, but did not know anything about a disagreement. But, if Spike had been upset about something, that would explain why he heard a crash earlier.  Ironhide looked over his shoulder at the locked door. Everything inside the quarters had been quiet for a long time.  “Maybe we should check on him.”

Ironhide got up and knocked politely on the door.  “Spike?”

There was no answer.

Hound moved in behind Ironhide and called out as well. “Spike, it’s Hound.  Can you open the door so we can talk?”

At first, silence was the only reply.  Then, a minute later they heard Spike coming toward the door, and then the door unlocked from inside The metallic door sensed the presence of Hound and Ironhide outside the room and immediately opened. 

Spike met optics with Ironhide and Hound for a brief moment, before he turned around and, with a dismissive wave of his hand, slunk wearily back to the bunk where he had been sitting, thinking about everything.  The others watched as Spike sat with his back against the wall at the end of the bunk, knees bent and feet on the bunk. He draped his wrists over his knees and held onto the back of one hand with the other. Spike stared blankly at a point in front of him and did not appear eager to talk.

Hound slid past Ironhide and stepped into the room.  Ironhide observed from one side of the doorway. “Something bothering you Spike?”

Spike’s optic ridges furrowed and a small frown appeared at the corners of his mouth.  Of course something was bothering him. He felt embarrassed enough about what had happened to him and he did not feel like pointing it out to everyone.  The last thing he wanted was an audience to see him in this robot body. 

“Spike, I don’t mean to pry, but is there something you want to talk about?” Hound tried again.  He took another step forward and noticed a splatter of red paste on the wall next to him. The shattered remnants of a bottle lay in a goopy red mess below. 

A slow answer emerged from Spike’s vocalizer, although he did not take his optics off whatever he was staring at.  “No.”

Ironhide rolled his frame back around the doorway so that he was out of sight, and fixed his optics on a point up on the corridor wall near the ceiling. He did not need to see Spike to hear what was being said.

With Ironhide not watching him, Spike looked over at Hound.  He liked Hound and appreciated that the scout had come to see him again. Hound was always easy to talk to and never put any pressure on anyone.

“Well, maybe.” Spike’s expression lightened.  He looked past Hound at the open door. 

Hound looked over his shoulder in response.  “Don’t worry about Ironhide.  He’s just doing his job.  It’s nothing personal.”  Hound sat down in the chair that Bumblebee pulled out earlier.  “You know he’d give his chassis for you any day. We look out for each other like that.”

Spike pursed his lip components and nodded.  “Yeah, I guess it’s just me then.”

Hound leaned forward with one forearm on his leg to listen.  “So what’s bugging you?” 

Spike had to stop to consider what was most on his mind. He had sat there and felt just about everything by now. Running through an intense spectrum of emotions left him feeling hollow and unwell.  “I…I just don’t feel good.  I don’t know how to explain it. I guess I’m going through a lot right now.”

“I know what you mean. I worried about you ever since you were hurt, and so did Bumblebee.  He took it especially hard.” 

Spike realized that he had been pretty hard on Bumblebee, but earlier he had felt very bad and it had not been a good time to talk to anyone at all. He hunched his head between his shoulders and stared at the bunk.  He would have to make it up to ‘Bee somehow.  Spike slowly returned his gaze back to Hound.

Hound read Spike’s body language and answered him honestly.  “It wasn’t your fault, Spike. That’s what the Decepticons are all about.  They don’t care about anyone, not even their own.”  He sat up and looked off into the distance.  “I blame the Decepticons, because if it weren’t for them, none of us would have to live with the fear that we’ll be obliterated someday.”

Spike was struck by Hound’s insight. He had not thought that Autobots lived with any fear.  Well, Bluestreak, maybe. From the point of view of a human being the Autobots were all so powerful and capable that they appeared invincible, like superheroes.  

“But, despite everything, I’m glad to be talking with you now.”  Hound smiled warmly. 

Spike returned a small smile.  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about everything.”  He took his hands off this knees and stretched out one leg.  “I mean, this is going to take some getting used to…but what choice do I have?  My old life is basically gone.”

“Take your time, Spike.”

“Yeah,”  Spike resigned himself. “It’s not like this is so bad.”  He swung both feet off the edge of the bunk and edged closer to Hound, speaking at a low level that he thought Ironhide would not be able to hear.  “Hey Hound, can you keep a secret?”

Hound grinned and put two fingers up to his chest. “Scout’s honor.”

Spike smiled weakly and answered in a normal tone of voice.  “Very funny.” He checked the door to make sure that Ironhide was still out of sight and continued in a whisper.  “I used to think that it would be really exciting to be an Autobot.”  As soon as he said it, Spike felt embarrassed and looked away.

“Oh, don’t feel embarrassed about that,” Hound reassured Spike.  “We all have our secret feelings about things.”

“We do?” Spike answered, wondering what Hound might be referring to. 

Now it was Hound’s turn to lean closer to Spike and speak in a hushed tone.  It seemed like the right time to mention his own closely held secret. “I wish I could be human.”

Spike sat back in awe, optics wide.  “Whoa…really?”

Hound put an index finger to his lip components and slowly shook his head. He did not want the other Autobots to know about this fantasy he had.  With Spike having revealed a similar, yet opposite, wish, Hound felt that he could trust Spike not to tell anyone.

Although surprised to hear Hound say it, Hound’s wish actually made sense. It fit with his character.  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Hound seemed not at all embarrassed about talking about his own desire, as he easily returned to the reason for his visit.  “Good.  I suppose then you can tell me now what’s been eating you?”

Spike optics wandered from Hound for a moment. “You know,” Spike started firmly then lost the exact idea.  He tried again. “Well, I don’t…” Again he was caught for words. Spike shook his head and looked bewildered.  He didn’t know why he was having trouble forming a cohesive thought.

Hound knew that look in another Autobot’s eyes all too well. He smiled knowingly, assured that all was well still with Spike, despite whatever happened earlier.  “I think I may know what will help.”

Spike looked at Hound with dull blue optics, waiting for the scout to continue.

“You need some rest. You’re tired.” Hound answered as if it was obvious.

Spike knit his optic ridges and looked hard at Hound.  Hound chuckled to himself and leaned back.  “Did you give Bumblebee that same look?”

The expression softened. “What?”  Spike asked defensively.  He did not know what Hound was talking about. Hound’s explanation did not seem obvious to him and he just did not know what he was supposed to do about being a tired robot.

Hound leaned forward again, and Spike relaxed. “Spike, I assume humans get tired for the same reasons as we do.  A lot has happened today, and I bet your neural circuitry just needs some downtime to adjust to it all.”

“Uh, yeah,” was all that Spike could manage to say.  It did not feel the same as being tired as a human being, but the mental incoherence was the same.  The best Spike could figure was that he felt drained.  “Okay, then, how do you sleep?”

“Well everyone has their own way,” Hound explained.  Spike had never had this conversation before with Bumblebee or any of the other Autobots and was a bit perturbed by how much this was sounding like human tiredness. His time spent in the body of Autobot X was so brief that he had never had to experience robot sleep. “Just shut your optics and clear your mind.  Your systems will power down on their own.”

Spike frowned at the explanation.  Of course he knew how to get to sleep.  He had been doing it all of his human life. Was this really no different?  He looked at Hound again, reassuring himself that it was the right thing to do, before shifting his position and laying back down on his bunk.  He closed his optics and the world disappeared into blackness. “Okay, clear my mind…” he told himself, listening to the sound of his own vocalizer

“Try to relax,” Hound coached him.

About ten minutes passed before Hound heard the soft whirr of Spike’s systems powering down. When Spike’s hands relaxed and opened fully he knew that it was time for him to leave. Quietly, he rose and put the chair back. He stopped for a minute to gaze at Spike, who was lost in unconscious processing.  Hound wondered if it would ever be possible for him to have the human experience.  He grimaced, telling himself that it was simply not possible and that he should not hold out hope.  He then let out the best sigh he could muster.  At least it was not impossible to imagine.  With that he left Spike’s quarters, stopping to chat quietly with Ironhide before proceeding to his own quarters for the night.

Spike awoke suddenly from a sense of being pushed into consciousness by an unknown force.  Disoriented, he looked around, recognizing his guest room at first and then, looking down at his chestplate, realizing he was still a robot.  He had expected to find himself in his own bedroom. Instead, the surroundings he found himself in were cold and hard – and again he was alone. He closed his optics and tried to imagine himself elsewhere as a human being, but it was no use.  The robotic systems of his new body were impossible to ignore. He let out a small, hopeless noise and rolled over to face the wall.  For the first time that Spike could think of, he did not want to be at Autobot Headquarters.  Not like this. 

After several minutes, light footsteps out in the corridor caught his attention and he turned over to face the other way.  What time is it? Spike sat up.  He looked over his new arms and hands again, testing reality. He felt focused and mentally balanced, a definite improvement over his state yesterday. “Not bad for just waking up,” Spike reflected. He wondered if he was going to feel this good getting up all the time.  Looking toward the door, he realized that Ironhide would be able to tell him the time.

But before he could approach the door, it opened prematurely and Spike found himself staring at Bumblebee. The minibot’s mouth was open as if he was just about to say something.

“Oh, hi Bumblebee,” Spike greeted the minibot. “What are you doing here?”

It was not the warm greeting that Bumblebee had hoped for. He immediately looked for some clue as to his status with Spike. Spike had called him Bumblebee, instead of his nickname ‘Bee, which could mean that Spike still wanted to maintain his distance from him.  Then there was Spike’s question about what he was doing there, accompanied by Spike’s expressionless faceplate. Bumblebee was firm in maintaining his friendship with Spike, no matter what Prime had ordered him to do back in Wheeljack’s workshop.  He certainly would not abandon his friend.

“I thought I’d see if you were up,” Bumblebee began cautiously.  Spike shrugged, as it was obvious that indeed he was up. “And I also wanted to see if you would join me for some energon this morning.”  Despite some anxiety, Bumblebee smiled pleasantly to show his good intentions.

So, it was morning already, Spike thought to himself.  He had not perceived a passage of time between laying down the night before and just waking up. He was not angry at Bumblebee and realized that Bumblebee’s offer would be a good opportunity for him to show that he did not want to harbor any bad feelings from the previous day. He had enough going on without starting a personal dispute on top of it all.

“Sure,” Spike replied casually.  Spike had seen the Autobots drinking energon before, but had never really thought too much about it.  Of course they need their fuel, just as humans need energy from food by eating.

Bumblebee brightened up considerably and led the way to the Autobot lounge.  Ironhide, who also appeared pleased to see the pleasant exchange between the two, greeted Spike then shadowed them. 

For some reason Spike had forgotten that the lounge would be busy in the morning as everyone stopped by to refuel themselves. He was quickly reminded of this when he stopped in the doorway and saw the room full of Autobots. Spike froze in his tracks, mortified at the prospect of everyone looking at him.  Bumblebee took a few steps ahead into the room before realizing that he was alone.

Bumblebee turned around and looked back at Spike.  “What’s wrong, Spike? C’mon.”

Trailbreaker heard Bumblebee call Spike’s name over the conversation taking place next to him and shouted above the din. “Hey everybody, it’s Spike.  Hi Spike!”

Smokescreen and Blaster, who were seated nearest to the door, but were faced in the opposite direction, turned around.  Smokescreen nodded to Spike.

“Hey, hey, my man Spike,” Blaster greeted merrily.

Smokescreen kicked Blaster’s leg for his reference to Spike’s human body.  Prime instructed everyone to be sensitive about Spike’s condition.  “Ow,” Blaster complained, rubbing his shin plate.  He had not meant anything negative by his salutation.

A chorus of greeting arose.  It was the first time the other Autobots had seen Spike since the battle.  Rumor spread quickly about what had happened. Spike tensed at all of the sudden attention and laughed nervously.

Realizing Spike was obviously not comfortable, Bumblebee addressed the other Autobots in the lounge with arms outspread to get their collective attention.  “Hey guys, give Spike some space.”  Bumblebee looked back and forth across the room. “There will be plenty of time to say hi later.”

Steeljaw, who had been sitting on the couch next to Blaster, reached out his front legs one at a time and arched his back as he lazily stood up in a big stretch. The yellow cassette lion-bot jumped down onto the floor and looked back up at the tall red Autobot communicator beside whom he had been seated.

“I hear ya,” Blaster answered Steeljaw.  “I was just getting up.”  Blaster looked up at Bumblebee and Spike and extended an arm toward the couch in offering.  “Bumblebee, Spike, these seats are all yours. We were just about to boogie anyways.”

Spike was reminded of Ravage as he watched Steeljaw saunter out of the room next to his guardian.  He closed his optics for a moment and focused.  The Autobot cat was not at all like Ravage, he told himself. Steeljaw would never harm him. As Spike stared, Blaster suddenly looked back over his shoulder. “Catch ya later, Spike.” With his hand raised in a still wave, Blaster exited the lounge.

Bumblebee ushered Spike to sit down, while he got two cups of energon for them.  Spike sat silently by himself on the couch, avoiding optic contact with everyone else. Smokescreen, who sat nearby, remained silent as he observed everything going on around him. After the yellow minibot was done, Ironhide filled his cup of energon and went to sit down at a table with some of the other Autobots, to give Bumblebee and Spike some time to themselves. Bumblebee returned from the energon dispenser and handed one cup to Spike and sat down happily with his own. With his cup raised, Bumblebee faced Spike with a smile.  “Bottoms up, as they say.”

Unenthused, Spike looked at the ominous glowing pink liquid in his cup.  Actually, it was more like plasma than fluid. Either way, now that he was right up to it, the thought of consuming the substance seemed dangerous to his health, if not outright unnatural. “Uh, you first.” The look of utter distaste on Spike’s faceplate was unmistakable.

“Okay, Spike, but you don’t know what you’re missing.”

Spike watched with awe as Bumblebee tipped the entire contents of the cup down his throat manifold in one continuous glowing stream. The minibot wiped the energon from the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to Spike, looking refreshed.  “Now it’s your turn.”

Spike flexed the fingers of both hands around the cup. Gripping it tightly, Spike looked nervously down at its contents.  The surface of the energon danced with a radioactive glow.  This stuff is dangerous.  He had seen the Autobots fret about the proper care of their energon stores since the fuel was highly explosive. “There’s no other way, huh?” he frowned.

Spike felt optics upon him and he looked up to see Sideswipe watching curiously from a distance. It was strange that the Lamborghini would take an interest in him, since Sideswipe had never seemed very interested in him before.  Seeing Spike looking over at Sideswipe caught Ironhide’s attention across the room, and the security chief shot the red warrior a suspicious glare that broke his sudden interest in Spike.  Puzzled, Spike dismissed the silent exchange and put his attention back on his yellow friend beside him.

“I wouldn’t want to consume it any other way,” Bumblebee replied with enthusiasm.  “It’s not going to hurt you. We’re built for it.  I do it all the time.”

Spike stared sadly into his cup and muttered to himself. “I think I’d rather suck on a gas pump.”

Bumblebee leaned back and laughed, placing his right arm up across the back of the couch to relax. “Only if you were an Insecticon, Spike.”

A long moment passed as Spike nursed his energon.  “I…I don’t think I can.”

Bumblebee got up to refill his cup from the dispenser. “Look, I’ll get another one, and we’ll both drink together.  It’ll be easy.”

He came back and encouraged Spike to start by putting the cup up to his mouth. “Okay, on three, tip your head back and drink.  One, two, three…” Bumblebee hesitated, checking to see that Spike was also going to drink the energon. Disappointed with Spike’s disinterest in carrying through with refueling himself, Bumblebee lowered his cup. “Spike, you need energon to function.  You’ve gotta drink it.”     

The worried tone persuaded Spike.  He had already done one stupid thing and found himself as a result in this Autobot body. It would be a second stupid thing to kill his new body by refusing to refuel it.

How he wished for a real breakfast instead.  The imagined smell of bacon and eggs, and even some freshly brewed coffee, was tantalizingly real.  Consuming energon instead of real food was like drinking chocolate milk in the morning. Spike pondered the last idea.  Yeah…like chocolate milk.  I think I can handle that.  He glanced sideways at Bumblebee and revealed a small, tilted smile. His friend smiled in response, hopeful that Spike was about to refuel.

Spike brought the cup up to his mouth and gazed down at the radiant energon. He raised and lowered his shoulders several times as if taking a series of short breaths, psyching himself up to drink. At last he rolled his optics toward the ceiling as he tipped his head back and made one last attempt to clear his mind of the idea that the energon he was about to drink was a deadly substance that would kill him if he was a human being. Chocolate milk.  It’s just chocolate milk. In one rapid, continuous motion, he closed his optics and dumped the energon back as quickly as possible.

Opening his optics, Spike leveled his head again and looked back at Bumblebee as if waiting for something to happen. Glowing streams of energon ran down his face and dripped onto his clean black hood.  Bumblebee tried not to laugh at the mess that Spike had made of his mouth.  Instead, the yellow minibot motioned with his own hands that Spike needed to wipe his mouth.

Spike stared in awe at the pink energon on the back of his hand that he wiped away from his mouth. He had really just drunk the stuff, he told himself. Suddenly, a strange feeling struck him in the pit of his torso, where his stomach should have been.  A worried look broke out on his faceplate. He felt like he was glowing. Spike’s fuel pump responded to a pang of fear as he concluded that he had just nuked his insides with energon. Bumblebee looked worried also, which only added to his own fear.

“Spike, what’s the matter?” Bumblebee demanded, suddenly very serious.

Spike shook his head.  The glow was spreading from his torso down his legs, and out into his arms.  With optics the size of headlamps he stared at his robot body wondering what was happening to him.  “I can’t stop it!”  Spike’s statement caught the attention of some of the Autobots nearby, none of whom reacted as if there was anything worth worrying about.

As he tensed his arms and legs, the glowing sensation accelerated its advance and overwhelmed him. Spike’s systems surged with new energy and his optics glowed involuntarily.  The energy spike was momentary. When it diminished Spike’s systems were left operating at a higher threshold than before he drank the energon.  He relaxed as he realized that the strange sensation was only his body recharging.  Feeling silly about what he had said, he quickly tried to save face.  “Uh, I mean…I can’t stop feeling…so good.” Spike grinned sheepishly, realizing it was too late to avoid looking dumb. 

Smokescreen winked an optic at Spike, but said nothing.  The tactician wore his typical poker face. 

Bumblebee chuckled.  “Hey Spike. Don’t worry about it.”

A shadow spread across Spike and he looked up to see the boxy form of Ironhide standing over him, hands resting on his hip plates.  The security chief positioned himself directly in Sideswipe’s line of sight, although he doubted that Spike or Bumblebee realized. Bumblebee was not a ‘bot on the red warrior’s prank radar so Bumblebee did not have much reason to care when Sideswipe or his accomplice, Sunstreaker, looked his way. Ironhide squinted, looking very seriously at Spike. 

“It’s about time you two moved on,” Ironhide stated firmly.

Spike wondered what he had done wrong. It was not like Ironhide to get after him. He exchanged a puzzled look with Bumblebee, who shrugged it off.  Ironhide’s constant presence was starting to wear on him. He was not a threat to anyone. Autobot X was a long time ago. The Autobots should not assume that he would flip out like last time, Spike thought to himself as he got up. 

“Ironhide,” Spike began, hesitating before heading for the door to explain himself.  “I’m okay.”

The security chief put his hand on Spike’s shoulder. “I know, Spike.  I just don’t think it’s a good idea to loiter around here right now.” Ironhide did not reveal anything about his concern with Sideswipe. “If you’re feeling up to it, why don’t you go back and find out what Wheeljack wanted you to come back to his workshop for.”

Ironhide’s response only confused Spike further. He was not sure what had prompted Ironhide’s initial gruff response.  Spike frowned, feeling mistrusted.

“Let’s go, Spike,” Bumblebee suggested.  The minibot trusted Ironhide, and had no difficulty following his direction.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Spike concluded and the trio left the lounge.

Ironhide glanced back over his shoulder, but Sideswipe had already turned his attention back to his brother and was laughing whole heartedly about something.  The security chief called Wheeljack to give him notice that Spike was coming back to see him.  Wheeljack sounded happy to hear this news.

Wheeljack was one Autobot that Ironhide never quite understood.  No matter how many times his crazy inventions either blew up or created some other catastrophe for them to deal with, the engineer never gave up.  He was always good natured about his failures and looked at them as an opportunity for improvement. Over the millions of years, Ironhide had seen so many situations repeat themselves that he became accustomed to predicting the actions of ’bots from his wealth of experience.  In his opinion, no gadget or device could replace sound judgment and his trusty multi-liquid cluster jets.

Ironhide did not take it personally when Wheeljack asked him to wait outside while Spike paid him a visit. He figured correctly that the nature of the conversation was personal, and, as always, he did not want to get involved in Spike’s personal business. Although Ironhide did not mind looking out for Spike, including looking out for threats from friendly sources, he would be happy enough when Prime was satisfied that Spike was safe and Ironhide could return to his normal duties. He was patient and could easily settle in and wait for Wheeljack to finish with Spike.  If the whole weapons decision had been left to him, he would have armed Spike right away and taught him how to fry Decepticons.  That would have solved all potential problems.

Although the decision was left up to Spike, he chose for Bumblebee to stay with him inside the workshop rather than to wait outside with Ironhide.  Clearly, the two were getting back to their old selves.  That was the fantastic quality about their friendship that gave the other Autobots hope.  After a tragic experience that cost Spike his human life, he was not holding anything against the Autobots for trying to save him. With strength like that, even some of the doubters amongst the ranks had to seriously consider that they had what it took to win this war.  Things were definitely starting to look up after being so down after the last battle with the Decepticons.  To add to that, everyone was glad to see that Bumblebee’s guilt was no longer consuming him, at least visibly. It was difficult to live in the same area with someone going through such a hard time.

Bumblebee hung back while Wheeljack ran through the basics of how to take care of himself, and how to operate special features that he built into Spike’s new body. This was the proper way to train someone new in Spike’s situation.  It was an oversight in the heat of the moment that the Autobots did not follow a prescription for introducing Spike to a new world back when Spike was transferred into Autobot X.  Wheeljack did not want to dwell on what went wrong back then, but just wanted to set the present situation up the right way.  He was in agreement with Ironhide that the best way for Spike to defend himself was to be armed.  Autobots were always targets of the Decepticons, and one could not always predict when weaponry would be needed to survive.

The engineer was clever, and obeyed Prime’s instructions exactly.  He did not give Spike any weapons. Weapons were offensive devices, though.  Prime never said anything about defensive devices. So, Wheeljack chuckled to himself as he thought about this again before revealing the secret device to Spike and Bumblebee.

“Now I want to tell you about a secret that you’ve got that packs a punch,” the engineer began in a tone of delight. “It’s not a weapon, but it’s just as good.”

Bumblebee reflexively turned and looked up at Spike, who had his gaze trained on Wheeljack, wondering what power he had been given.  This had to be something cool, something that would make up for the fact that he had to give up his old life.  Jazz had a dazzling light and sound show designed to disorient, Mirage had invisibility, Hound had the power of illusion and Windcharger could levitate and move metal objects by casting magnetic fields.  None of those powers were weapons. Even flight would not be a weapon. Excitement dispelled any distress still lurking in his mind.

Wheeljack continued. “I got the idea from a little road trip I took late one night a while ago.”  As he recollected he used his hands to illustrate. “I was driving down I-5 and noticed an unusual string of lights behind me.  Before I knew it, four loudly painted cars surrounded me and boxed me in.”  Wheeljack laughed at himself.  “For a moment I thought I was done for. Luckily, these weren’t Stunticons, but humans that seemed to like that look and style of driving. Anyways, not to digress, but they gave me a couple of ideas.”

Spike could not wait to hear what the secret was.  He almost wanted to shake Wheeljack to make him hurry up and tell him.

“The first one isn’t a big deal, but I thought you’d like it, Spike.”

“First one?” Spike asked in awe.

“Sounds like your lucky day, Spike,” said Bumblebee. “Hey Wheeljack, do you have anything for me?”

“Sorry, Bumblebee,” Wheeljack replied to the minibot before turning his attention back to Spike. “Spike, I installed blue neon lights on your vehicle mode underbody.”

“What’s that?” Spike asked, confused.

Wheeljack was a little surprised to hear that Spike had never heard of this type of lighting, but believed that Spike would like how it looked, anyhow.  “Imagine blue neon lights under your car, around the perimeter.”

“Oh,” Spike said slowly, acknowledging that he was imagining what it would look like.

“Now imagine having these lights on at night, and how it would look like you were floating above the road instead of driving on it,” Wheeljack explained.

“That does sound kind of cool,” Spike replied as he took in the idea. 

“I thought it was neat to see humans using this style of lighting, since it reminded me of some of our vehicle modes back on Cybertron. I thought you’d enjoy that, Spike, since I know you would like to go to Cybertron someday.”

“Uh, yeah, I would,” Spike started. He looked down at himself, his expression long.  “I didn’t mean like this, though.”  He squeezed his right hand into a fist. “I still can’t believe what happened.”

Wheeljack noticed Spike starting to grind the gears in his jaw and tried to divert Spike’s attention from turning to anger. “Look Spike,” he began sympathetically, “I can’t change what happened.”

“Spike, Wheeljack’s just tryin’ to help,” Bumblebee tried to explain. 

Spike’s thoughts raced, but he held them inside. Help?! How is this help?  I lost everything! I can’t live like a normal person anymore. Spike squinted at Bumblebee and Wheeljack, his vision blurring with growing anger and hopelessness.  The pit of despair was starting to open up to swallow him again. A disembodied voice haunted his mind.  You’re a freak!  A freak!  Freak! However, the shadowy figure of Autobot X appeared once again in the back of Spike’s mind, offering a rock to anchor him. The world in front of his optics began to disappear as the voice became louder and engulfed his attention.  “No!” Spike hollered all of a sudden to shut up the voice, gripping his head with both hands.

Wheeljack urgently pointed towards the door. “Bumblebee, get Ironhide, quickly!”

Disoriented, Spike did not notice Bumblebee run out the door and return with the security chief.

“What did you do to him, Wheeljack?” Ironhide complained loudly.

Wheeljack just looked at Ironhide. Luckily, Ironhide read Wheeljack’s meaning and apologized for jumping to conclusions.  “Sorry, Wheeljack.  Hmm…he’s still a little ruffled up.”

Wheeljack approached Spike and put his hand on Spike’s shoulder to get his attention, then looked directly into Spike’s optics. “Spike, focus on me.” 

Spike nodded.  His mouth turned into a tilted grin as he composed himself and looked around the room, regaining his bearings.  “I’m fine Wheeljack.  I’m fine.”  He snorted a laugh and edged his shoulder away from Wheeljack’s hand.

The others looked at each other, unsure of what had just happened.

“You sure, Spike?” Ironhide enquired.  “You sure didn’t sound fine.”

“I’m fine,” Spike stated more firmly.  “I just…” he paused to search for an explanation that would halt the inquisition. “…had a flashback. It’s over now. Sorry.”

“See Ironhide? He’s okay.” Bumblebee tried to cover his own concern.  Spike seemed to be acting strangely now, although he could not put his finger on exactly what was different.   

Ironhide measured Spike up, and decided not to pursue the matter.  Spike had not lost control of himself, so there was not much he could do.

Wheeljack stared at Spike, mentally double-checking his work, but he could not think of a technical reason for why Spike reacted as he did.  He concluded that Spike’s response was purely psychological in nature, something that the engineer could not fix.  “Maybe now’s not the right time to finish our discussion.”  

Alerted by Wheeljack’s statement, Spike’s optics darted back over to the engineer. He did not want to lose out on finding out what this power he had was and how he could use it.  “No, please, Wheeljack,” he begged.

Wheeljack looked to Ironhide, who nodded his approval in return. The sooner that Spike could figure out how to use what Wheeljack had given him the better.

“Only one thing, though. I’m stayin’ right here,” Ironhide announced and pointed at the spot where he was standing. “Ain’t no way I’m leavin’ now.”

Since he did not know what else to do, Bumblebee went along with the others. With the minibot and now Ironhide observing, Wheeljack continued his explanation of Spike’s special ability.

“As I was saying…” the engineer began tentatively. He was a little nervous of Ironhide’s response, knowing that Ironhide was Prime’s representative and that Wheeljack was under direct orders not to give Spike any weapons. While Wheeljack believed his interpretation of the order freed him from any repercussions, he could only hope that Ironhide would also see it his way.  “I wasn’t permitted to give you any weapons, so I decided to give you a defensive tactic instead, just in case you found you needed it.” 

“Hey,” laughed Bumblebee, “that’s pretty smart, Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack glanced over at Ironhide to gauge his response.  The old veteran grinned and crossed his arms, so Wheeljack continued, relieved.  “Behind your regular headlights, I installed Solar Lux Lamps, capable of producing 300,000 Watt light beams.”

Disappointed, Spike’s mouth dropped open.  It did not sound as appealing or powerful as he had hoped it would, and certainly not as neat as the powers other Autobots had.  “What…what does that mean?”

“In simple terms, you can see them from outer space,” stated the engineer.

Bumblebee piped in.  “Why does he need such bright headlights?”

“Normally he wouldn’t,” Wheeljack replied coolly.  “However, let’s say Spike was cornered by the Decepticons. He could activate his Solar Lux Lamps to blind the enemy and escape.”

The workshop fell silent while the others, including Spike, mulled over Wheeljack’s device.  Ironhide was pleased that Wheeljack had found a way to equip Spike with a means of protecting himself, at least until he could be properly armed later.  The red and grey security chief spread his arms and placed his hands on his hip plates, waiting for Spike’s response.

Bumblebee voiced his opinion to his friend.  “Just don’t use those things around me. I don’t want to have to explain to Ratchet why my optics are burned out.”  He laughed, trying to add levity to the atmosphere.

“Spike?” Wheeljack coached.

“Yeah,” he pondered, “thanks, Wheeljack. I’m sure they’ll come in handy.” Spike was not one for responding to Wheeljack’s ingenuity with enthusiasm. There was not much he felt like saying now that he realized that he was still powerless in his new form.

“Well, you should try them out,” Wheeljack recommended, then caught himself. With his hands raised defensively, he emphatically corrected himself. “But not here! Do it outside where no one else is around.” The engineer muttered to himself, “I know they work ‘cause I tested them.”

Bumblebee looked back up at Ironhide and joked to the security chief.  “At least we know they won’t blow up.” 

Ironhide unsuccessfully tried to suppress a chuckle. “Sorry, Wheeljack. It’s just, well, you know…”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Wheeljack made a sighing sound. He wished for once he could be known for his successes rather than for his failures.

“Hey Wheeljack,” Spike interjected, which caught everyone’s attention. He looked inquisitively at the engineer, having thought he had just found a conundrum.  “What’s to stop me from blinding myself?”

Wheeljack laughed to himself.  “Good question Spike. You said that just like Prowl would have.”

Bumblebee and Ironhide glanced at each other, realizing that indeed it was a valid point.

The engineer raised then answered Spike’s question.  “I realized this potential so I made sure you had a special visor to shield your own optics. But it’ll only engage when you’ve activated the Lux Lamps.”

Spike tried to look up above his optic ridges at the underside of his helmet, but could not focus to see where this visor was installed.  He supposed it should be up there somewhere.

“Oh, and you should know I built a delay into the Lux circuitry. Once you activate them there’s a three hundred millisecond delay before they turn on. So if you do it accidentally, and change your mind, they won’t even flash.”

Spike had to laugh.  The whole headlight business was starting to sound really weird from a human point of view. He thought it would look pretty bizarre to be in robot form and activate chest lamps.  Spike shook his head, amused by the image in his mind’s optic. “Don’t worry, I won’t be flashing anyone.”

No one else laughed. An awkward moment of silence followed. Uncomfortable, Spike instinctively started to fidget. Not understanding the context of Spike’s obvious joke, Wheeljack changed the subject.

“Well, there’s only one more thing that I wanted to go over with you, Spike,” the engineer announced.

Spike raised his optic ridges, wondering what was next.  His attention was starting to wane. The image of super bright headlights as his power played over and over in his minds eye.  Boy, am I going to look dumb. This was one big step down from Jazz’s light and sound show, which was pretty choice.

Wheeljack looked from the others over at Spike.  “I hate to say it this way, but – here goes nothing…Spike, transform!”

Spike winced as if Wheeljack’s order had just blown over him.  “Excuse me?” he asked as politely as possible. This had to be a joke. He was not really an Autobot.  He was just Spike, although he looked an awful lot like an Autobot. But he was not the real thing.

“Transform.” Wheeljack just stood there and again commanded Spike to change from robot form into his former car.

Spike laughed self consciously, and looked to Ironhide and Bumblebee for some way out of this uncomfortable situation. “C’mon guys…?”

Finally, Ironhide spoke up.  “Uh, Wheeljack, I don’t think he knows what to do.”

Wheeljack tried a more sensitive approach. “Spike, I would like you to transform right here so I know that you can do it. Will you give it a try?”  

Spike stared at Wheeljack, optics transfixed on the lamps on either side of the engineer’s head, watching them flash blue.  Wheeljack was serious.  Spike just could not imagine contorting his body in humanly impossible ways. He recognized that his body pattern matched that of Prowl, Bluestreak and Smokescreen and, in his minds eye, he saw himself turn one hundred and eighty degrees around at the waist and then the image disappeared. 

He shook his head and protested the request. “I can’t move like that.”  As a human being, Spike had trouble sitting cross legged for any period of time. There was no way he could make himself do fancy maneuvers and choreograph them together at a whim.

“You might not think you can, but I know you can do it,” Wheeljack encouraged Spike. “You don’t have to think about everything in order for it to work.  Try imagining what you want to do, and put your attention on the end result.  Your circuitry’s designed to respond automatically.”

Spike laughed nervously. Bumblebee was not backing him up by giving him a way out.  He felt rather stupid standing there having the three of them watch him. He did not feel very confident about this ability to transform. Years of watching the Autobots do it made transformation look easy.  But he still thought of himself as a human being and that inhibited his ability to adapt.

He shifted his weight onto one leg and placed his right hand on his hip plate. He tossed his left hand out, palm up and tried to explain himself to Wheeljack. “Wheeljack, I know you did all of this great work, but it’s just…not me.” As Spike spoke, his mind played with the idea of what it might be like to transform, if he really was able to do it.  “I’ve been upset, mad, down – all of it – since yesterday, but I’m starting to see that I wouldn’t even be standing here if it wasn’t for what you did.”

Bumblebee and Ironhide were stunned to hear Spike’s reflective statement.  It was another positive sign.

“I just don’t think that on top of it all that I really want to try transforming.” Spike paused for effect. Out of curiosity, he was still trying to imagine what it might look like for his robot body to reform itself into another shape. He found he could not stop his mind from dwelling on the idea of what it would be to transform now that Wheeljack planted it in his mind. An image of Prowl transforming played in his mind, and morphed with the image of himself he had seen in the mirror. He watched it’s body twist, contort and take on the familiar shape of an Earth vehicle. As Spike slowly blinked, the image in his mind morphed from a police car into his Honda.  “I’m not my car-”

Suddenly, Spike’s body triggered like a sprung mousetrap, and a whirlwind of movement and sound thrust him to the floor. Before he knew what had happened, he landed hard on his tires, rebounding slightly off the front ones, where more of his weight had lowered suddenly. The room was gone and replaced with a three dimensional world of shapes covered in grid patterns.

“What happened?!” he cried, as Spike’s interior vocalizer indicator lit up at his speech.  He could not move his limbs or head.  “I can’t see anything!”   His surroundings were unreal and he did not know how he could even perceive without his optics. 

Wheeljack swung his fist into the air above him and called out victoriously. “You did it! You transformed!”

“I did?” Spike asked, stunned. He noticed that he could “see” the strange grid world three hundred and sixty degrees around him.  That should have been impossible, normally.

“And you look just like your car, too.”  Bumblebee transformed and rolled up beside his friend.  “Ha, ha!  Spike, we’re practically the same now.”

Ironhide’s expression wrinkled at Bumblebee’s pronouncement. He did not see how the minibot and Spike looked the same. Bumblebee was no more the same as Spike than Ironhide himself was the same as Bumblebee.

The grid world flickered with familiar colors as Spike recognized the shapes he was seeing around him. “What’s…going on?!”  He trained his focus on the grid model of Wheeljack, which then suddenly manifested with all of the engineer’s normal colors.  Seeing the normal world reappear calmed him down. “Strange…why is everything doing that?”  Spike could not help but notice that the vantage point that he was now viewing the others from was the same height as his former human point of view.

“No need to worry, Spike.  Your central processor’s just gestalting. Relax. It’ll be over in a moment.” Wheeljack knew exactly what Spike was experiencing because it was the way Spike’s neural pathways were designed to operate.

“My what is what-ing?” Spike asked, confused. 

Wheeljack explained. “Your mind has to get used to what it’s seeing.  In vehicle mode, we see using sensors that we normally don’t use when we’re in our normal mode.  It’s not uncommon the first time someone transforms to see the environment broken down into rudimentary shapes.”

“That’s what I saw!” Spike claimed incredulously.

“Right,” Wheeljack confirmed.  “Gestalting is a process by which your mind recognizes the information from your sensors and relates it back in terms of what you expect the world to look like.  You’re probably noticing other details emerging now.”

Spike looked around him. Indeed the world was taking on more subtle details and was nearly back to the same world that he always expected to see. “Will it do that all the time?”

“It shouldn’t. If it does, just let me know and I can fix it.”  Wheeljack rubbed his hands together, pleased with his handiwork.  “Well, that’s about it for what I wanted to go over with you today.”

Bumblebee transformed back into his robot mode and took a step back from Spike, expecting Spike to transform again right after him. 

“You’re not going to leave me like this, are you?” Spike worried.

Bumblebee hunched over the black vehicle and spoke to the flashing interior vocalizer light. “Just do the opposite of what you did before.” He stood up straight and again backed away.

Initially, Spike did not know what it was he had done. But a second later he realized it was when he imagined becoming his car that he transformed.  Okay, just think about yourself, then. With that, Spike’s human self automatically jumped to mind. Nothing happened.  He felt hurt by the lack of a response from his new body. With no other option, he imagined seeing his robot self in the mirror, although he had difficulty recognizing it as himself.

A moment passed and Spike was still stuck in vehicle mode. Great, now I really am my car. He found it ironic that the one thing that he retained through the loss of his human form was the thing that, during the recent battle, he worried more about losing than his human self.  All along he had thought that his worldly possessions, being symbols of his success, were of great importance.  Now he realized that there were more valuable things to lose.  If only he could have seen that truth sooner.

“I’m stuck!” Spike announced and swore as he struggled to move. It was like he was caught in a straightjacket. 

“Calm down, Spike.”  Ironhide patted the air in front of him. “Been stuck before myself, and it ain’t no use fightin’ it.  Just take it easy.”

Wheeljack stooped over to help.  “Spike, try thinking about becoming your robot self again.  Remember, focus on what you want to do, but don’t worry about the details.”

Growing frustrated, Spike let go of trying to move his locked joints.  Being an Autobot was not all it was cracked up to be.  It looked a lot cooler than it was turning out to be. He wanted nothing more than to step away from himself for awhile and be a human being again.  How could he have thought it would be neat to be a robot for all of those years. Spike imagined lying back in his nice soft bed back at home and pulling out a good book.  What a luxury that would be.  Later he could get up and get a real meal instead of looking forward to knocking back some radioactive liquor. He had more fun at a gas station fueling his car than he had feeding himself that morning.

Bumblebee tried to help by lending his support.  “C’mon Spike. It’s not that hard.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Bumblebee.  I’ve never done this before.” Spike was feeling a bit tense.  He wrestled with himself again, but only bounced around on his tires. Spike forced a sigh through his vocalizer and stopped trying to move.  He did not want to have to think of himself differently, but realized that he should at least give Wheeljack’s advice a better try.  Okay, this had better work. 

Spike summoned up his mental strength and tried hard to see himself as the Autobot that he physically appeared to be. He imagined that the golden face in the mirror was really his, and that he wanted to return to that form.  The visceral, industrial feel of the servos, wires and hoses in his arms and legs seeped into his mind.  He let it become him. At last he tried to imagine standing up again and taking a few steps forward.

Unlocking joints clicked and Spike’s body began its programmed transformation sequence.  As his torso spun around, he became dizzy and lost his bearings.  He flung out his arms but lost his balance as he tried to turn himself around to face everyone. “Oops!” Spike crashed to the floor.

“Not too bad for a first attempt.”

Wheeljack was overly optimistic, Spike thought to himself, as he slowly picked himself up off the floor. “Well, it looks like I’m not stuck anymore.” He started to stand, but stopped with his hands still on his knee joints.  “Phew!  That was hard.”

“You’ll get it Spike,” Bumblebee encouraged. “You just need practice.” 

“A lot, evidently,” Spike agreed, and accepted Ironhide’s help standing up the rest of the way.  The security chief gave him a quick look over for damage and replied with a friendly grin and a thumb up.

“Thanks, Ironhide.”  Spike was feeling a little more lighthearted. He welcomed the change in emotions, and looked at all of them, reminding himself that these were his friends, after all. “Hey Wheeljack.”

“Yeah Spike?” 

“I know I should be more grateful. I appreciate how much you’ve tried to help me.” 

Wheeljack was speechless.  It was rare that he was thanked by the other Autobots.  After everything that he had been through in the last week and a half it heartened him to hear that Spike appreciated all his effort.  When he found his thoughts, Wheeljack was humble. “Don’t worry about it, Spike.”

After a moment, the engineer put his fists on his hip plates and began to look around his workshop.  “I’ve really got to clean this place up. It really got out of hand this last week.”

“You want a hand, Wheeljack?” Bumblebee chimed.

“No thanks, ‘Bee.  I know where I want to put everything.”

As Wheeljack and Bumblebee spoke, Spike flexed his arms, copying the movements they made as he transformed. Even though it was hard, the idea of being able to transform, was starting to grow on him. The years old appeal was returning.

“You want to practice some more, Spike?” Ironhide inquired.

Focused on his own movement, Spike was surprised by Ironhide’s comment.  He self-consciously stopped what he was doing. “Um…uh….”

“I know somewhere you can go and try on your own,” Bumblebee suggested.  “You don’t have to have anyone watch, if you don’t want to, right Ironhide?”

Ironhide faltered. He supposed that Spike was showing signs of being okay enough that he could start cutting him some slack and give him some more distance.  “Well, uh, I guess so.”

“Great,” Bumblebee confirmed.  “Spike, follow me.  We’re going down to C-deck. I know a place down there where no one will bother us.  I can help you if you get stuck again.”

Spike smiled.  Bumblebee was the best friend he ever had.  He did not mind Bumblebee keeping him company.

The two parted ways with Wheeljack.  Ironhide mentioned something about waiting for them over by the weapons stores. The security chief was planning on sitting himself down near the middle of the Ark’s span, but the place Bumblebee had in mind was in the impact zone much further ahead into the mountain. Few ever ventured into that area.  It would be a good place for Spike to practice transformation and driving and how to use some of his body’s other features in private.  The only thing Spike could not do was use his Solar Lux Lamps.

Spike and Bumblebee spent the afternoon and part of the evening on C-deck. At first, they talked a lot at first and did not do much practicing. Spike still had a lot of concern about his predicament and how he was going to get through it.  Bumblebee turned on his radio for some background noise to drown out their conversation, just in case Ironhide or someone else did chance near them. Bumblebee had his own concerns too.  The moments of what appeared to be mental instability troubled him.  It seemed that Wheeljack corrected whatever problem created the Autobot X side effect Spike experienced years ago, but something still was not right. Bumblebee refrained from discussing his concerns because he was not sure how Spike would react. Spike seemed to go through moments of depression and the minibot had found out the day before that the mood had its tipping point.

At some point in early evening, Ironhide set out to find Bumblebee and Spike.  The two had turned on the dim emergency lighting in the otherwise dark, abandoned impact zone.  The security chief followed the soft echo of the radio down into the damaged area of the ship.  Like the others, Ironhide did not like to be in that eerie area.  It reminded him of how lucky they were that Mount St. Hilary had erupted and caused Teletraan to rebuild them. Otherwise, he and the other Autobots would still be lying in amongst the rest of the scrap.

Ironhide came into the ruined hollow where the bottom of the ship was crumpled and torn. Brown rock formed part of the floor and one bulging side of the large open space.  Bumblebee and Spike were seated on the floor, leaning back against an old generator that had been ripped from its foundation during the crash and hurled across the deck.  Seeing Ironhide walking toward them, Bumblebee turned off his radio and the conversation ended abruptly. 

“Just thought I’d check on how things were goin’,” Ironhide stated.  “You’ve been down here a long time.”

Before getting up, Spike instinctively brushed the palms of his hands against one another after having rested them on the floor. He scratched the top of his helmet and looked at Bumblebee.  Just as he was about to inquire about the time he recalled how Wheeljack had showed him how to check his own internal chronometer.  It was past eight thirty at night.  His optics grew wide. Where did all the time go? he wondered.

“I didn’t realize so much time has passed.”  Spike lent a hand to Bumblebee, helping him up.

“I’d say you’ve got the basics down now, Spike?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Spike was lost in thought for a moment.  Thinking about how well he was able to transform back and forth between both modes made him think of his dad. He was distracted by the wish to see his dad and show him how well he had done. Spike missed his dad and his everyday life.  Sure, the Autobots were exciting to be around, but he wanted to go home.

Bumblebee was optimistic.  “Between being able to transform and drive away and those killer lights, you’ll be fine.”

Ironhide gazed at Spike. Spike’s downcast optics and expressionless faceplate told him that more was going on inside Spike than he was letting on. “About time to be gettin’ back upstairs,” Ironhide thumbed over his shoulder.

“And time to get some energon, too,” Bumblebee nudged Spike with his elbow. 

Spike did not look enthusiastic. “Oh, oh yeah,” he responded flatly.  He did not like the thought of having to refuel himself again.  Being an Autobot, Spike was really starting to miss real food.  At the moment, he felt fine, so he wondered if it was really necessary to refuel. Spike looked around for some excuse why he needed to stay behind or do something else. But the area had served its purpose, so he acquiesced and trudged away behind Ironhide and Bumblebee.

When the elevator doors opened, the sound of other Autobots could be heard elsewhere on the deck, and Spike became self-conscious again. He froze in the elevator. 

“C’mon Spike,” Bumblebee started to sound a bit annoyed. He did not know why Spike was making such a big deal of introducing himself back to the Autobots.  The others did not think Spike’s new physical state was undesirable.

Still inside the elevator, Spike leaned back against his hands and slowly shook his head.  He looked like he had a bad case of stage fright.

Ironhide rolled his optics.  The security chief went back into the elevator and tried to slip his arm behind Spike’s to encourage him to leave the elevator and come out into the corridor.  But Spike only pulled away and crossed his arms.

 “I don’t want to go in there,” he stated firmly, referring to the Autobot lounge. Ironhide backed away. 

“Well, I am, Spike.” All afternoon, Bumblebee had talked with Spike with the same patience that Hound had shown to the minibot while Spike was in stasis in the Spark Cell.  He thought they had sorted everything out, so he was surprised to see Spike relapsing.

Spike did not want to seem like he could not deal with a little publicity. An excuse came to mind, so he turned to Ironhide.  “Ironhide, I want to go outside and try out Wheeljack’s Lux Lamps.  He said I should go outside to use them, right?”

“They’re your Lux Lamps. But, uh, okay.”  Ironhide waved Bumblebee on into the lounge. 

Spike loitered for another moment in the elevator and then stepped out, first looking up and down the corridor.  Spike managed a couple of amicable greetings along the way to others that they passed.  As it turned out, the two walked the entire way up the entrance. 

The causeway lights glowed brightly against the dark backdrop of the outdoors. The air was cool and a light breeze buffeted them.  Spike recalled the warm spell from the last time he had been outside. But that was almost two weeks ago now. The warm weather pattern was gone and replaced by a more typical climate.  He could not see any stars, and the light from the half moon was obscured by a layer of clouds.

***

Laserbeak opened his optics at the faint sound of Autobot feet caught by his sound collecting dish and roused himself on his perch in the darkness. Reconnaissance was tedious and often required periods of near shut down to conserve energy while he waiting for his prey to make a move. For the last twenty four hours the Decepticon waited and watched from a distance as Autobots came and went from their base.  He had not seen any sign of the newcomer that Megatron sent him to spy on, but his luck was about to change.

He adjusted his footing and activated the camera stored in the top of his head, adjusting the lens for long range.  The image proved to be two Autobots in silhouette at the base entrance. They spoke for a moment and moved off to the right. Laserbeak cawed softly to himself as he noticed that he did not recognize one of them. He had to follow them around the mountain to get a closer look.

Laserbeak set his jets on low power to prevent himself from being noticed. He glided close to the ground over to a point where he could see the two Autobots he was following and gently settled on a large rock.  As he came to a rest, two sets of blue eyes appeared on the distant mountain, looking in his direction.  The Decepticon bird froze and waited. After a minute the eyes turned away and disappeared into the surrounding darkness.

The two Autobots walked past several of the night guard. The boxy Autobot stopped near the guard furthest from the base, but the other one, the one that Laserbeak was most interested in, continued on further by himself.

Now that he was closer, Laserbeak focused on the lone Autobot. He adjusted his camera for low lighting and took a good look at the prey. The Autobot had a familiar form to others that the Decepticon knew, however this one was colored differently. It blended into the dark landscape.  As Laserbeak watched, the Autobot checked to make sure he was alone, and transformed into his vehicle mode.  Excited by the possibility to follow the newcomer away from the base, Laserbeak hailed Soundwave.

“Report Laserbeak,” came Soundwave’s monotone voice over the communication link. Laserbeak immediately transmitted his findings in Cybertronian code. Soundwave issued his instructions to his minion.  “Continue observation and report when subject’s new position is verified.” 

That was Soundwave’s way of telling Laserbeak to wait until the Autobot was clearly isolated before notifying Megatron. The Decepticons already tried once to contact the newcomer near the Autobot base and failed. This time they would wait until the newcomer strayed away from help before approaching.

Laserbeak had to content himself with watching the emerging light show centered around the newcomer.

***

Ironhide suggested that Spike aim his lights at the mountainside to avoid catching anyone in his beams, including far off humans. Spike was out of sight, but the light from his headlights was visible as a faint glow further around the mountain. Ironhide waited with Bluestreak while Spike experimented at first with his normal headlights and high beams. Not sure what to expect and at what moment Spike was going to activate his Solar Lux Lamps, Ironhide proactively shielded his optics from Spike’s direction.

“Just whatever you do, Bluestreak, don’t look into them.”  Ironhide squinted as he spoke to the gunner on patrol.  “They’ll take your optics out.”

“I wonder why Wheeljack would give him ultra bright head lights, but not a photon rifle,” Bluestreak mused out loud.  “Head lights can cause a lot of trouble, especially if someone flashes at you on the road.  I remember once a guy came up behind me and flashed his high beams at me and honked as if I was in his way or something.  In his way? I was only doing, like, two hundred and forty miles an hour on the open highway, and he still wanted to pass.  I don’t get it. How fast do you need to go, unless you really, really need to get somewhere - and this was late at night.”

Ironhide winced, wishing he had not said anything at all.  With Bluestreak so quietly on guard duty, he did not figure on having to endure one of his long, wandering streams of thought.

“I hope that Spike doesn’t do that to anyone.  I mean, if he shines lights like those at someone,” the gunner pointed in astonishment at the region as bright as daylight emanating from behind the rock as Spike activated his Lux Lamps, “he’ll seriously hurt another – I mean – a human being, or cause an accident. Honking wouldn’t be great either, but it’s much better than shining really bright lights at someone.”

Ironhide interjected to slow Bluestreak down.  “Don’t worry, Bluestreak, I think Spike can figure that out. He’s not the type to want to hurt anyone.”

Bluestreak’s optics bulged open and he raised his hands defensively. “I, I don’t know about that Ironhide.  I remember when he was Autobot X there for awhile.  Everyone said it would be fine and he went crazy and started breaking things. And then Megatron found him and he started shooting at everyone…”  Bluestreak laughed nervously.

Again, Ironhide tried to calm the gunner.  “Bluestreak, Spike’s been back for two days, and that’s a whole day longer than last time with no fightin’.  Prime has me seein’ over him for a few days until he’s sure that Spike’s okay.”  Ironhide closed an optic. “So far, so good.”  

Optics still wide, Bluestreak bobbed his head. He did not appear to entirely trust Ironhide’s assessment of the situation. Instead of arguing with the security chief, he smiled sheepishly and looked back into the dark landscape for the presence of Decepticons.

After a short while, the light show was over and Ironhide heard Spike’s footsteps approaching in the darkness.  Bluestreak tried to look really serious and busy with his guard duty so that Spike would not pay too much attention to him.

Ironhide purposely bumped into Bluestreak before following Spike back to the base entrance.  He leaned over and quietly spoke in Bluestreak’s audio sensor.  “Aw, c’mon Bluestreak.  Relax.”

Bluestreak only adjusted his grip on his beam rifle and watched out of the corner of his optics as the two departed.

Ironhide noticed Spike dragging his feet back down the causeway. He quickened his pace so that he walked parallel with Spike. “You should go get yourself some energon.  You look tired.”

Distracted by what Ironhide was saying, Spike nearly tripped over his own feet.  Luckily, he caught his balance in a nimble shift of weight that he had learned while practicing transforming and catching his balance each time.  Regretfully, Spike had to agree with Ironhide. 

“Yeah, I think you’re right.”  He held the side of his head with one hand. “For some reason I’m feeling really drained after that.”

“I’m not surprised.  That looked like it took a lot of energy,” Ironhide responded referring to the energy consumption associated with the use of Spike’s Solar Lux Lamps.

Spike knew the way to the lounge all too well. He did not look forward to the energon waiting there, but realized that he needed it to function properly. The experience of drinking the glowing fluid was not going to be his favorite daily activity. Maybe he would try closing his optics and imagine drinking something else this time. Like…what? He wondered.  Spike ran through the possibilities, but nothing really stood out as something that would constitute a whole meal.  He started to wonder if Wheeljack could reconfigure him so that he could eat normal food. If the Insecticons could eat all sorts of organic material and convert it, how come he could not?

His expression twisted as he realized the problem was that the Insecticons ate a lot.  The amount of material they had to consume in order to get enough energy kept them busy eating most of the time.  Spike realized that drinking fuel already processed for consumption was the easier of the two options.

“What’s this?” Ironhide interrupted Spike’s train of thought.  He looked down as Ironhide picked up a cylindrical piece of equipment.  Part of the wall was taken apart, complete with void matching the shape of the part. The security chief narrowed his optics and cursed at someone unnamed.  “Why that little…”

Spike frowned, not having any idea what Ironhide was talking about. 

“Go on,” Ironhide urged Spike after a moment.  The lounge was just up the corridor.  “I just have to make a quick call about this, and I’ll be right there.”

As Spike entered the lounge he was surprised to find it nearly empty.  Bumblebee was gone, which surprised him because he was sure that his friend would have waited for him. He checked his chronometer, wondering why everyone was gone.  Gone, that is, except for two Autobots: Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker was busy at the disassembled door console on the other side of the lounge. After Spike entered, both doors slid shut, sealing everyone inside.  With optics like slits he grinned slyly at his brother.

“Where is everyone?” Spike asked naively.

“What do you mean?” Sideswipe asked coolly as he lounged on one of the couches, feet up on the table. “Don’t we count as anyone?”

Spike looked behind him, wondering what was going on.  “Why did he close the doors?” He thumbed at the door behind him as he gazed across the room at Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker casually strode across the room and sat down on an adjacent couch. Then, hearing hurried footsteps approaching at that moment, all three looked toward the door behind Spike. With Spike turned in the opposite direction, Sideswipe smiled a very big smile and leaned over and knocked fists with his twin.

Sideswipe smoothed over the moment of confusion. “The doors weren’t working properly. Sunny here was just trying to fix them.” The red warrior winked at Sunstreaker.

“Spike!” Ironhide’s voice called out from the other side of the door. “Spike, you in there?”

Spike paused for a moment. It was the first time he was actually separated from Ironhide, and Spike realized that maybe it was not such a bad thing. “Yeah, Ironhide.”  He shuddered from his own admission, not wanting to have Ironhide back following him around again.

“Stand back, I’m going to break the door down,” the security chief commanded.

Spike backed away toward the couch where Sideswipe casually observed, swinging his arm over the side of the couch. There was silence for a moment, and then something hissed behind the door.  Spike blinked as he observed the closed door remained intact.

“What the-” Ironhide sounded confused about something, and then called out loudly in an annoyed tone.  “Hey! I know you’re in there!  If you do anything, I’ll have your side panels mounted on Prowl’s wall.”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Sideswipe laughed hysterically and high-fived Sunstreaker.

Spike’s expression and body language radiated scared, so Sideswipe explained what was going on.  “Relax Spike, it’s no big deal. I just thought you’d have had enough with old Ironhide by now and could use some time to cut loose.”

A tilted smile greeted Sideswipe.  Spike nodded. It was awfully considerate of Sideswipe to go to the effort of getting him a break from his babysitter, so Spike gladly accepted Sunstreaker’s offer of the available seat beside his brother.

Sideswipe adjusted his pose and faced Spike next to him. “I replaced his liquid nitrogen cartridges with…” The red warrior held himself in, trying not to burst out laughing. “…shaving foam.”

“You what?”  Spike laughed with him. That was pretty funny. “When?”

The red warrior tried to look serious for a minute.  “Well, let’s just say that when Ironhide nods off, he’s really off his guard.”

This news surprised Spike. Were there really moments when Ironhide was not attentive? “Where on Earth did you get shaving foam from?”

Sunstreaker answered with a smirk. “Sides is very resourceful.”

Ironhide cursed to himself on the other side of the door.  There must have been a big mess out there from the sounds of things. The security chief’s steps faded away, and Sideswipe slouched.

“Well, we won’t have to worry about anyone bothering us for awhile.” Sideswipe tipped his head back and smiled widely.

Spike fidgeted, realizing that he was trapped in the room. “W-What do we do now?”

Sunstreaker stood up and towered over Spike. He narrowed his optics and feigned a smile.  “You look beat. I bet you haven’t had any energon this evening.  Let me get you some.”

It was true that Spike felt drained, and he did come to the lounge for some energon. The situation just felt weird, though, with the twins were being so strangely nice to him. Uncomfortable with their sudden friendship, Spike hoped to remain in control of the situation.  “That’s okay. I can get it myself.”

A red and silver arm whipped across his torso and held him back.

“Just stay there.  I’m going to get some for all of us,” the yellow warrior glared.

It was hard for Spike to disagree with someone who looked like he would beat the tar out of him if he so much as moved an inch. Spike slunk back into the couch and Sideswipe removed his arm from Spike’s torso, interlocking his fingers together behind his own head.

Sunstreaker carefully brought back three full cups of energon. He held one cup in each hand and balanced the third on top of the rims of the other two.  It was a show of just how perfectly balanced and in control the big Autobot was.  Sideswipe plucked off the top cup, and Sunstreaker thrust one of the others toward Spike, who was obliged to accept it.

Spike rolled his optics down at the glowing pink fluid in front of him.  Despite how he felt, he detested the idea of drinking it. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” the yellow warrior asked with a polite smile.

Spike’s optics widened and quickly returned to the yellow warrior. “Oh, no,” he found himself apologizing. “No, it’s just, uh, that, uh…”

Sideswipe slapped Spike hard on the back.  Energon would have sloshed over the rim if Spike had not reacted quickly enough to catch it.  “That’s the way, Spike.”  Sideswipe laughed as Sunstreaker sipped his energon.  “Drink up.”

Spike felt the valves to his internal energon storage chamber shut off hard. He could not force himself to drink and yet, as he looked at the two Autobots drinking from their own cups, he could see that he was not in a position to refuse. Focusing on the cup he held, Spike told himself that just a little would be okay. With optics closed, he willed the valves to reopen and he quickly poured a little into his mouth and down his throat manifold.  He appeared to shiver as his systems responded to the energy increase.

“Good stuff, isn’t it?”  Sideswipe asked cheerfully.

Spike was slow to answer, taking time to check for spillage with the back of his hand. He did well and did not spill a drop this time.  “It does make you feel better.” There was not much else he could think to say that was redeeming about refueling. “I’d rather have a steak, though.”

The twins wheezed with laughter. This was good comedy.  “Sorry, we don’t have any of those,” Sunstreaker responded, shaking his head.

Between fits of laughter, Sideswipe pointed to Spike and told him to, “Finish it.”

Spike knew the two jokers were right.  If Bumblebee were there he also would have told him that he needed to drink the whole cup. He could not figure out what was so funny about wanting a steak, but maybe there was a joke in there that only Autobots understood. Looking again down into the cup he knew the sooner he drank it the sooner the experience would be over.  So, he rolled his optics up, tilted his head back and poured the rest back until the cup was empty, wiping away the glowing dribble oozing from one side of his mouth.

The two warriors’ optics widened.  “He’s quite the drinker,” Sideswipe noted to his nodding brother.   

Spike was still trying to get used to the energy surge sensation.  Sunstreaker grabbed Spike’s cup from him.  “I’ll get you another.”

“Just one is fine,” Spike replied sheepishly to the yellow warrior’s Cheshire grin.  He realized that he had to accept the offer.  “Okay.  Another.” What have I gotten myself into? he thought to himself.

Sideswipe slowly sipped his own energon. When Sunstreaker returned again from the energon dispenser he pushed the full cup into Spike’s hands.

“Thanks,” Spike forced his reply. 

“Well, go on,” Sideswipe encouraged. “You don’t want Sunny to think you don’t appreciate his hospitality, do you?”

Spike exchanged an uncomfortable smile with Sunstreaker, who glared at him like a spider would at a fly.  He laughed nervously and lifted his cup and drank a little.

Sideswipe’s expression became pensive. “You know, Spike?”

“What?” Spike asked reflexively.

“I bet Wheeljack told you to drink only until your systems refreshed.” The Lamborghinis looked intently at Spike, waiting for a response. “Did he?”

“Well,” Spike searched for words, “it, it seemed to make sense to me.  Is there something wrong with that?”

Sunstreaker almost spat out the energon he was carefully sipping as he fought the urge to laugh.

Sideswipe kept a straight face, though.  “You know why Ironhide’s been practically attached to you with energy shackles, huh, Spike?”

Spike shook his head, wanting to hear Sideswipe’s assessment of the situation.

“It’s because they don’t trust you,” Sideswipe leaned over and hissed.

Spike nodded slowly. It was disheartening to hear someone else tell him what he already suspected. “It’s true.”

“They only mistrust you because they fear they can’t control you,” Sunstreaker explained. 

Sideswipe reclined and agreed. “Yeah, Prowl is always on our case about something, even if it doesn’t make any sense.”

“They don’t want you to be strong,” Sunstreaker continued, “like us.”

“And,” Sideswipe wagged his finger at Spike, “to be strong you need to have enough energy.”  The red warrior smiled warmly. “So drink,” the twins raised their cups in a toast, “and be strong.”

Spike paused for a moment to reflect on what the others said as they drank from their cups.  He tightened his grip on his own cup, wondering if he had been lied to by the others. He knew he was not a threat to anyone, but could see from the actions of the other Autobots that he was mistrusted because of something that happened years ago that was not even his fault.  There was also this big deal everyone was making out of keeping him disarmed.  For the last two days he had felt so weak and powerless and alone that the temptation to gain more power over his situation was undeniable.

“I’ll drink to that,” he raised his cup, and eagerly poured the rest back. This time when he felt the energy surge through his limbs he let out a whoop and raised his fist into the air.  It felt good to satisfy that internal urge for power.  He nodded and looked at the two warriors, considering that they were the only two Autobots that were being honest with him. “I do feel stronger.”

“Of course,” Sunstreaker replied slyly.

Sideswipe looked over his arm of the couch for something.  “Spike, this energon is like…” he stopped for a moment in mid reach for something, “…what’s something really uninteresting for humans to eat?”

Spike pulled a face. “White bread...?”

“This energon is like eating white bread all the time. Boring.”

Spike had to agree with that sentiment.  “You can say that again.”

Sideswipe laughed as he retrieved a chrome canister and placed it on the table in front of Spike.  “Now,” he paused for effect, leaning closer and making direct optic contact, “this is the stuff that everyone wants.”

Sunstreaker nursed his first cup of energon while his brother retrieved four more canisters hidden beside the couch and lined them up on the table along with the first one. 

Eagerly, Sideswipe listed the contents written in Autobot script on the side of each one, starting from right to left.  “That one’s premium, then rocket fuel, nuclear, hydroelectric and the last one is from a coal fired plant.”

“I don’t understand. What are those?” Spike inquired.

“Energon,” Sideswipe answered as if it was obvious.  “This is what the Decepticons are always after.”

Spike looked at the canisters suspiciously.  The governments of the world gave the Autobots some fuel supplies in return for their services protecting humanity, but he could not recall hearing about Autobot excursions to power plants to gain the energon that Sideswipe had in his possession. “Where did you get this stuff from?”

Sunstreaker repeated his earlier statement.  “Sides is very resourceful.”

Spike smiled defensively.

“And now that you know about this,” Sideswipe informed Spike as he began removing the lids of each, “you have to have some of them.”

Spike understood the notion of spreading the guilt and realized that the energon in front of him was not from a legitimate source.  The two cups of energon he drank left him with a pleasant buzzing from the all freely available energy.  He did not want to disturb the state of mind, so he let Sideswipe pour him some of the energon made from premium gasoline.

Sideswipe gingerly handed him the cup for him to sample. “Here, try this.”  Sunstreaker fetched two new cups and Sideswipe poured a smaller sampling for each of them also.

“To strength,” Sunstreaker toasted and tipped back the energon in one gulp.  Sideswipe also downed the energon quickly.

Strength.  Yeah, I’ll have some of that. As Spike grinned and his head buzzed, he could almost imagine himself as Autobot X enjoying the same moment. Forgetting his revulsion to refueling, Spike tipped back the premium gasoline energon.

“Hmm,” Spike pondered, his thought processes disturbed for a moment by the excess of energy. “Better than the stuff out of that machine over there.”

The two warriors laughed. 

“No kidding,” Sideswipe agreed and reached out to take Spike’s empty cup.

“Let him try the rocket fuel next,” Sunstreaker suggested.

“That’s exactly what I was going to do,” Sideswipe responded to his brother, and poured some of the rocket fuel energon next into each of their cups.  Again, he gave Spike half as much again as he gave himself and Sunstreaker.

“Wow!” Spike exclaimed as he took a sip of the energon made from the rocket fuel.  “It’s so rich!” He pulled the cup away and looked at it in awe.  “That stuff is really good.” 

“I think it’s the higher energy release to volume ratio of the base fuel,” Sideswipe pondered as he examined the canister. “High grade.” 

Sunstreaker snickered. His brother looked over and saw a neon blue glow outlining the underside of Spike’s doors, the underside of his chest and his feet.

“He looks kind of like one of those bugs that lights up at night,” Sunstreaker laughed.

“Yeah,” Sideswipe nodded and laughed.  “What do you call those again?”

Spike’s mind was numb from all the energon, but he responded without having to think about what the answer was.  “Oh, you mean a firefly, I think.”  He laughed at himself and hiccuped, glowing pink sparks issuing from his mouth. Becoming overcharged, Spike’s feelings of self-consciousness dissolved. He liked his newfound confidence. He rapidly curled and uncurled his fingers, eagerly requesting more energon.

“Okay, okay,” Sideswipe responded smoothly.  “I’m not stingy.  Here.”  He handed out three more refilled cups. “I’m doing this out of order because you really have to try the hydroelectric one first. It’s smooth, clean, and goes down easy with a nice finish. Perfect stuff.”

“I can’t wait to try it.”  Spike eagerly picked up the cup and gazed at it with brightly glowing eyes. As the others sipped their less full cups, Spike tipped back the contents in two gulps. 

“Easy, easy.” Sunstreaker tried to persuade Spike to slow down.  “You won’t be able to savor it.”

“Oh yes! I feel pumped!”  Spike tensed his arm servos and clenched his fists. It was great to feel so powerful. This is exactly what he needed.

The twins grinned and slapped each other’s hands.

“See Spike?  We were only trying to help,” Sideswipe reminded him. “Now aren’t you glad that Ironhide isn’t here? You wouldn’t have any fun if he was around.”

“Damn right about that.  He’s a pain in the ass.”  Spike was blitzed.  “I’m so sick of him, I’d like to kick his butt.”

Sunstreaker was not surprised by Spike’s drunken statement, but Sideswipe’s optics widened.  “Ho, ho. Maybe we have more in common than I thought, Spike.”

Spike’s mind wandered and he spoke off the cuff. “I doubt it. Really, you guys are from another planet.  You’re waaay out there.”  He extended his hand up into the air and looked somewhere far off.

“I don’t know,” Sideswipe considered humorously. “You’re pretty far out there yourself.”  All three laughed together.  “Well,” the red Lamborghini poured the energon from the fourth canister into their cups, his own optics starting to glow more brightly, “We’re not done yet.”

“Just give me a little,” Sunstreaker nudged his cup closer.  “I’m not too fond of the nuclear stuff.”

Sideswipe shrugged, and gave the balance of Sunstreaker’s portion to himself. 

Spike swiped the cup off the table just as the pink fluid stopped flowing into it. He waved it in front of his face, pretending to test it.  “I don’t care if it’s safe or not.  I’m a robot and I can just be fixed.” He laughed crazily and drank heartily with one hand while he rested the other hand on his torso. “Nice, but it burns in your stomach.”

“You have a stomach?” the yellow warrior inquired with a twisted smile.

Spike swore, but it came out incomprehensibly because he momentarily lost control of his vocalizer. A comment like that would have normally set him off into a bad mood about losing his human body and being made into a metal freak of nature.  But the energon smoothed out all the bumps and left him feeling strong and content. “I did.  But now I’m Autobot Spike!” He stood up quickly and tried to look tough, but nearly lost his balance and knocked the table.  “And I’m going to kick your ass!”  Spike scowled and pointed at Sunstreaker.

“You don’t want to take me on,” the yellow warrior crossed his arms and huffed.  Not finding Spike’s drunken challenge amusing, he glanced sideways at his twin.  Normally, Spike would not be able to get away with making a comment like that.

“He’s right,” Sideswipe agreed emphatically. He’d not only kick your skidplate, he’d rip it right off and send it to Megatron with a nice little greeting written on it.”

Spike tipped his head back and laughed.  He lost his balance and landed back on the couch, giggling to himself. When he collected himself somewhat he only pointed at Sideswipe and continued his monologue. “And when I’m done with him, I’m going to kick your ass, too.”

Sideswipe shook his head, amused.  “Then you’re not getting any more of my energon.”

Spike swung his head around drunkenly. “Well, okay. Maybe I won’t then.” He could not stop the fits of laughter that seized him.  It was great to feel in control and giddy at the same time. What a positively fine condition compared to the miserable state he had been moping around in for the last two days.

Sideswipe picked up the last canister and looked in earnest at the sullen yellow warrior adjacent to him. “Should I?”

The frown turned into a cunning smile. “Of course.  He’s not done yet.”

Sideswipe raised his optic ridges, mocking an expression of doubt as to whether or not he should give Spike any more. With Spike’s empty cup and the fifth canister in his hands, and Spike on his side convulsing from laughter, he grinned and poured a last full cup of energon. He placed it carefully in Spike’s open hand and closed the fingers around it.

“Spike, you’ve got to sit up to drink it.” Sideswipe lifted Spike by the shoulder until he was upright.

Spike tried to focus on the fuzzy pink spot at the end of his arm. He knew his hand should be there.  Why was his hand pink? He thought that his hand was black.  It was impossible to think about such a simple puzzle. “What do I do with it?” he slurred. 

“You drink it,” said the fuzzy yellow blob where Sunstreaker had been before.  The red black and silver blurry image of Sideswipe was barely recognizable beside him.

Spike furrowed his optic ridges, confused as to why he should drink his hand. 

“Spike,” Sideswipe tried to get Spike’s drunken attention. Spike’s head wobbled as he tried to keep his optics on Sideswipe.  “You’re about to try energon from a coal-fired power plant. I suggest you drink this one all at once.”

There was a pause. “Okay.”  Spike had one try to get the energon from the cup into his mouth. If he tried to make a slow, deliberate movement his servos would overcompensate and he might huck it over his shoulder instead. That would be no good. He made a brief attempt to focus on where his open mouth was and then flung his arm up toward his face.

About three quarters of the cup made it to the target, but the remainder splashed on his optics and ran down his face, although Spike did not seem to notice.  Within a few seconds he doubled over and bellowed.  His optics bulged and a pink glowing mist spewed from his mouth.

“Don’t lose it!” Sideswipe yelled at him through hysterical laughter.  Sunstreaker grabbed the arm of the couch, laughing hard. This was priceless.

Spike closed his mouth and sat up, all serious.  But the heat forced him to open his mouth again, which glowed rosy pink from the residue inside.  The energon in his internal chamber gurgled. 

After several minutes, he was able to close his mouth and keep it closed.  “That stuff is garbage!”  He coughed out a vapor bubble. “I think it burned something important.  Am I leaking it?” Spike raised his arms away from his torso so they could check for him.

Sideswipe swatted the air. “No way. That stuff just scours.  But-”

The twins finished the sentence in unison. “- it does have an interesting aftertaste.”  The Lamborghinis laughed until they heard footsteps returning to both doors.

“Well, look at what time it is,” Sideswipe reminded himself, pretending to check his chronometer.

“We’d best be going,” Sunstreaker confirmed as his brother put the lids back on the canisters.

Sideswipe picked up the canisters and jogged backwards toward the center of the lounge, tossing them one by one to his brother, who followed, as he went.  Sunstreaker caught each one expertly, collecting all five in a pile in both arms.  The red warrior looked above him for a moment, and then leapt up on his brother, steadying himself on Sunstreaker’s shoulders. He removed one of the ceiling panels and slid it inside a secret passageway.

Still holding the set of canisters in both arms, Sunstreaker braced himself, and Sideswipe leapt up into the passageway. He disappeared for a moment to turn around and then reappeared with extended his arms to receive the canisters.  The yellow warrior flipped them one by one into the air and juggled all five.  Sideswipe picked them off one at a time as they passed by him, setting them aside behind him in the passageway.  Finally, the red warrior saluted Spike, who still sat in an overcharged stupor on the couch, and disappeared for good. Sunstreaker tensed then vaulted himself with finesse up into the opening.  The panel slid back into place and Spike was left alone in the lounge.

A piece of maintenance equipment began to drone behind the door that Ironhide had tried to break open.  Meanwhile, voices began arguing behind the door on the far side of the lounge.  Spike slumped over, his systems pushed to their limits.  After a period of time they pried the far door open and several Autobots broke into the lounge. Spike was too overcharged to discern how many were there or who they were.  He thought he recognized the tallest one, the one that seemed to be ordering the others. That one gave him a sense of comfort.

A red object flashed in front of his optics but Spike was too overcharged to respond.  Thereafter a white figure emerged in his blurred field of vision. He was beyond the point of being able to figure out what was going on. Spike felt his arms and legs being picked up and then found himself staring up at the ceiling as he was carried back to his quarters.

He recognized the hard surface of his bunk as they laid him down.  Someone tried talking to him, but it was all a blur. Eventually, the light turned off and the door closed.  Shortly afterward, he lost consciousness.

A knock at the door roused Spike.  He tried lifting his head and opening his optics, but the mechanical components were slow to respond.  The image of Ratchet standing in the open doorway doubled before consolidating.  Spike grunted and dropped his head back again.   

“How are you feeling this morning, Spike?” the chief medical officer asked him pleasantly, checking the functioning of both optics by shining a hand-held light in them.

Spike raised his hands to block the light. “Ow! That hurts.”

“Good. You’re fine.” Ratchet chuckled, and then became more serious.  “Now get up.”

“What?!” Spike could not believe that Ratchet was ordering him to move in his condition.

“I said ‘move’,” the medic sternly repeated himself.

Spike furrowed his optic ridges and squinted at Ratchet. Ironhide was standing silently behind him with his hands on his hips plates. Spike struggled to remember what happened and how he got back to his quarters.  He remembered being in the lounge with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe – and he was drinking energon with them. Spike recalled enjoying himself and finally feeling strong again inside.  Now Ratchet was in his face, commanding him to get up when his body felt burned out and difficult to move.

Wearily, Spike dragged his body up off the bunk into a sitting position. Holding his head with one hand, he stared at the glowing pink puddle on the floor next to his bunk.  “That doesn’t look good.”

Ratchet sounded annoyed, but he held in his wrath for the real culprits. “Your overflow valve opened up. But I wouldn’t expect you to know that.” He tossed Spike a rag. “Clean yourself up.  I’m not going to do it for you.”

Stunned, Spike held the rag for a moment.  He noticed with a start the pink spray all over his hood and down the front of his chest. As best as he could, he wiped it up and daubed his face.

Then, someone quietly peeping around Ironhide caught Spike’s attention.  It was Sideswipe. Following Spike’s gaze, Ironhide turned quickly and tried to grab him, but the red warrior was nimble and evaded the grasp of the security chief.  

“Why you,” Ironhide growled at the Lamborghini.  “I ought to throw you in the brig just for having the gears to show up here.”

Ratchet stood suddenly and spun to face the doorway, a fire in his optics. “No! He’s mine!”  The chief medical officer picked up Spike’s room chair and, with it raised, pushed past Ironhide out into the hall. He tensed, ready to use it as a weapon against the red warrior.

Sideswipe raised his hands defensively and looked as innocent as possible. “Hey, hey, everybody.  I just came by because I heard what happened. I wanted to see if old Spike was okay.”

The chair swung over his head as he ducked out of the way.

Spike wanted to see what was taking place outside his room, so he scrambled up, but Ironhide would not let him past the doorway.  “Don’t get in Ratchet’s way when he’s mad.” The corner of Ironhide’s mouth was turned up in a half-smile as he watched Ratchet take care of business.

“Oh! And where did you hear about it from? Your slagging brother?!” Ratchet swung the chair in the other direction.

Sideswipe hopped backward, barely avoiding being hit. 

Chair still in hand, Ratchet stalked Sideswipe down the hall.  “I bet you and Sunstreaker were just talking about your exploits, and you thought you’d come over here and get one more laugh out of it!”

The red warrior laughed self-consciously, then turned and ran as fast as he could.

“When I get a hold of you….” Ratchet slowly shook his head and then took off after Sideswipe.

Spike frowned and cast his optics downward.  Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had taken advantage of him. 

Ironhide cocked his head to one side and smiled at Spike.  “Good old Ratch’. He’ll straighten him out. I bet before Ratchet’s done with him, Sideswipe will be at Prowl’s door, begging for mercy.” The security chief chuckled to himself.  “Justice served.” He put his hand on Spike’s shoulder, grinning.  “I’ll get you a new chair.”

Spike’s frame sank.  He felt used.

“Uh, Spike,” Ironhide paused, waiting for Spike’s full attention, “I think Ratchet meant to say that it would be a good idea to get up and around after all that energon.  Might be a good idea to get outside for a while. Wanna go?”

“Are you coming?” Spike asked without enthusiasm.

“I got to, kid,” the security chief answered.  “It’s still Prime’s order.”

Spike stared at the wall.  Great.  I’m being babysat…still.  When will this end? He gazed up at Ironhide, who offered a friendly smile as he stepped aside to let him through the door.  “Sure.  Why not?”  It was not like Spike had much else on his schedule nowadays.

Spike trudged along the corridor toward the entrance to the base.  This was supposed to be the place where he went to get away from the stresses of everyday life, a place where he did not have to conform to everybody else’s expectations. Now all those things he liked to get away from had followed him to the Ark. Spike stared at the floor in front of him. It was still pretty hard to believe that his body was not waiting somewhere for him to return to it. If only he could talk to his dad again, maybe that would help him feel better.

Ironhide was quiet.  He considered asking Spike about what happened last night while he was stuck in the lounge, but concluded it might be a point of embarrassment for Spike, considering how he reacted to a variety of other situations over the past two days.  Ironhide knew that Prime’s order to keep tabs on Spike could not go on for much longer. He could see that Spike was starting to wilt under the security chief’s constant watch.  At the end of both days, after Spike retired to his quarters, he updated Prime, hoping for Prime to relax the watch. But Prime was sure that the Decepticons would try something, and that it was not worth the risk to leave Spike alone.  The least Prime could do was assign Spike a weapon for self defense if he was that concerned about Decepticons.

The hexagonal opening to the base was obscured in a hazy white mist. Both Ironhide and Spike were surprised to see fog. A cool, light breeze blew minute droplets of water suspended in the air past them. The cloud layer distinctly enveloped the area.  

“This isn’t very good weather,” Ironhide stated obviously.

“Yeah, weird,” Spike agreed hesitantly.  “This doesn’t happen very often, although that same breeze was blowing last night.”

During the night, a low pressure system had moved in off the ocean and through the mountains.  The rapid approach of the coastal low pressure system produced the fog.

Spike walked forward into the thick white blanket.

“Spike, don’t go far.  It’s hard to see.”  Ironhide had a legitimate concern for Spike’s safety with the poor visibility.

“I won’t,” Spike stated. “I’m just going to go find a place to sit for a while. I…want some time alone.”

The security chief followed Spike down the slope past Jazz, who was on guard duty. Jazz offered his usual jovial greeting to the two.

Ironhide let Spike go until he could just see his silhouette.  Spike found a place to set himself down and leaned forward with his chin on his fist.  Ironhide did not feel comfortable sitting down because he did not trust what he could not see.  He had to let Spike have some time to himself, so he compromised by keeping Spike within his field of vision.

Spike stared out at the nothingness in front of him for a long time. Kind of like my life right now, he reflected. The walk from his quarters had done his body good and he was limbering up again. He was surprised that he was not experiencing a more drastic side effect from the energon, such as a hangover or some robot medical problem.  With nothing in front of him to look at, he closed his optics and listened for a while.

The wind buffeted his audio sensors, creating intermittent white noise.  Ironhide was silent somewhere behind him.  He imagined he was alone, with no one watching. It felt good.  He could be in control of his life that way. 

There was nothing for Ironhide to do but wait. He visually scanned the fog, suspicious of what could be out there.  The security chief did not want to draw a weapon with no visible threat around since that might alarm Spike.  He preferred to use his multi-liquid cluster jets, but this was not the right situation for them.  He glanced over at Spike’s silhouette.  The fog slowly rolled by in drifts.

Spike considered his options.  No one trusted him here, and he did not belong anywhere else. He looked over his shoulder at Ironhide. 

At that moment, a wall of fog passed between them and obscured Spike’s silhouette. For a moment, Ironhide could have sworn that it was Autobot X seated there instead of Spike. “Optical effect,” he muttered to himself. The light wind gusted, bringing even thicker fog.  Ironhide peered into the white void. He strode forward, but Spike was gone.

“Spike!” Ironhide called.  There no response.  “Spike! Where are you?”  He walked further into the blanket of fog, but heard nothing. “Spike, are you there?”  Looking around him, Ironhide realized he was out of his element and better get help.

Ironhide returned back up the slope and met Jazz.

“Hey man, did he give you the slip?” Jazz asked.

“Yeah, he’s not answering.”

“Do you want me to radio Prime?”

“Naw.  He can’t have gone far. I’ll take care of it.”

Jazz nodded to Ironhide as the security chief continued back up toward the base. “Good luck.”

Ironhide leaned up against the rock outcropping beside the entranceway and opened up a communication line to Prowl. The strategist appeared on his forearm communicator screen.  “Prowl, it’s Spike.  I think he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Prowl asked, surprised.  “Where?”

“I don’t know. I’m up at the entrance and he slipped away in the fog.”  Ironhide glanced over his shoulder.

“You did try calling him?” Prowl checked.

Ironhide shook his head. “He’s not answering. I need back up.  Find Hound. We need someone who can see through this.”

“Affirmative.  Prowl out.”

The security chief returned to Jazz and waited for the others to help him search for Spike. 

“It was going to happen sooner or later, you know.”

Ironhide paused for a moment then looked away. “I know.”

After a minute, the familiar sound of Hound’s engine growled up the causeway, followed by Bumblebee. Bumblebee transformed into robot mode and ran down the hill toward Ironhide, but Hound remained in vehicle mode and raised his turret gun and started a radar scan of the area.

“Spike!  Spike!  It’s me, Bumblebee!” the minibot exclaimed. His cries also went unanswered. 

Hound’s radar picked up Ironhide, Bumblebee and Jazz, but no one else nearby.  He scanned further, but only picked up other Autobots in the usual guard posts. Nothing out of the ordinary showed up on radar, so he slowly drove down the dirt road, scanning to either side.

“Maybe he’s lost.” Bumblebee looked up at the other two Autobots for some reassurance.  He was very worried about Spike’s condition.

Jazz let Ironhide do the talking. 

“Don’t know about that ‘Bee. I think Spike knows what he’s doin’.” 

“What do you mean? He ran away?”  Bumblebee was stunned.  “Why?”

Ironhide squinted into the fog.  “I reckon he’s got somethin’ on in his mind.”

Bumblebee sunk.  It was news he did not want to hear.

Spike could hear them calling for him, but he was far enough away that he could not even hear his name being spoken. He felt the contour of the ground to get his bearings, knowing that the right way to go was anywhere down the mountainside.  At the bottom of his descent the fog was lighter, and he could see for a considerable distance.  Spike transformed and drove away slowly so that his engine would not attract unwanted attention.

Wheeljack was pretty smart, he realized. Because Spike was familiar with his own car, he was a natural at driving in vehicle form.  With ease, he looked for the familiar dirt road.  It sure makes it easier to do this now that I can see in all directions at once, he laughed to himself.  Searching the stands of fir trees at the edge of his field of vision, he quickly found the dirt road and shifted up.

Hound picked up an anomaly on the road ahead of him. “I think I’ve got him!” he radioed the others and sped off in pursuit.

As Hound flew down the slope onto the valley floor, following his radar image, the fog began to clear and he made visual contact with Spike. He tried to radio Spike, but Spike was ignoring his attempts.

“Spike!” the scout called from behind. “Slow down!  It’s me, Hound.”

Spike only sped up.  As he accelerated, his wheels spit up rocks at Hound, one bouncing hard off his windshield. 

Hound pressed his accelerator down as far as it would go, but Spike outpaced him.  “What did Wheeljack do with his engine?  I can’t keep up to him.”  At last, the scout hit his brakes and skidded to a halt, watching through the dust as Spike disappeared on the road ahead of him.  “I, I lost him,” Hound radioed the others. “I wasn’t fast enough.”

When Ironhide and Bumblebee caught up to Hound the three Autobots transformed back into robot mode.

“We need someone fast to go after him,” Bumblebee demanded.

Hound and Bumblebee looked to Ironhide to decide the next move. 

“I’ll call Prime.  I was responsible for Spike’s whereabouts, and I lost him.  Prime will decide what to do.”

Ironhide called the Autobot commander and briefed him on the situation.  As instructed, the three waited by the roadside for Optimus to reach them.  In the meantime, Prime commanded some of his fastest Autobots to join in the search.  Moments later, Prowl, Mirage and Wheeljack ripped down the dirt road, headed for the Interstate.

Spike had a good head start and knew exactly where he was going. Anxiously checking behind him, he sped away as fast as he could. Traveling at high speed, he had little time to react when he caught sight of the rapidly approaching strip of asphalt.  He careened across the centerline before swooping back into the right lane. With the fog behind him, Spike could see clearly as he headed for the first Interstate entrance.

Closing the distance, Prowl led Mirage and Wheeljack out of the woods and onto the asphalt road. The three slowed down to check for human-driven vehicles before rolling on to the paved surface.

“There are his tracks!” Prowl exclaimed.

“He went that way!” Mirage added excitedly. 

The three Autobots lowered their speed as they traveled through several small communities. They checked local vehicles as they drove, but saw no sign of Spike.  The locals gave them odd looks. It was a strange sight indeed to see an Indy racecar, a Lancia Stratos Turbo and a Fairlady Z police cruiser. 

Safely on the Interstate, Spike eased up on his accelerator and slowed to the posted speed limit.  He did not want to be stopped by the police. The last thing he needed was to try to explain himself.  It was weird enough when he was a passenger and one of the Autobots was driving, but now he had no driver. Spike tried to relax and blend in with the other traffic as he set his course for home.

Laserbeak held back at a safe distance, watching the chase unfold. As he cruised high above, the Decepticon cawed proudly to himself about this fortuitous chain of events. All of the commotion and calling during the initial search had caught his attention.  Those foolish Autobots did not disguise their actions.  It was impossible not to figure out what was happening. Now, the unsuspecting Autobots below him had no idea that their activities were being recorded by him and transmitted back to Megatron.  The moment that the Decepticon leader was patiently awaited would soon be at hand.

At the freeway entrance, there was too much traffic to tell which way Spike went, so the three Autobots split up.

“Mirage, you go south. Wheeljack, follow me north.  Everyone stay in contact,” Prowl ordered.

“Right, Prowl,” Mirage accepted. He eased down the far ramp then revved as he merged in with the other traffic headed south.

“Let’s go, Wheeljack.”

Prowl hung back behind Wheeljack and both checked the multitude of cars on the freeway.  Prowl tried to check the vehicles traveling in both directions, but realized it was not as effective as focusing on northbound traffic only. He would have to trust Mirage to thoroughly check the traffic traveling in the other direction.

“There are a lot of vehicles that look like him,” Prowl observed.

Wheeljack chuckled.  “Not a bad disguise, if I do say so myself.”

“It may be too good in this case.” Prowl looked ahead at the traffic in front of them.  “Let’s speed up.  He is probably somewhere ahead of us.”

They wove through traffic, searching for a Honda Civic without a human driver. Their maneuvers elicited them some unhappy honks and hand gestures.  In response, Prowl turned on his police lights and the traffic let them through in the fast lane.  Prowl stayed behind Wheeljack, and they quickly checked all of the traffic in the other lanes.

They flew past a state trooper pulled over to the side of the highway. He was finishing his paper work from the speeding ticket he had just issued.  The officer looked up to see a highway patrol car chasing a rally racing car down the freeway. He shook his head and instinctively put his hand on the shifter.  “I didn’t know we had a patrol car like that. Must be new.”  He raised his eyebrows and drew in a breath, gazing at the silent radio.  “Well, I guess he’s got that one under control.”  With that, the trooper went back to finishing his paperwork.

“Prowl,” Mirage’s voice came over the radio. “I’m down near Salem and there’s no sign of Spike. I don’t think he went this way.”

“We haven’t found him in the northbound traffic, either, Mirage,” Prowl stated, then paused to consider what to do next.  “Head to Portland, Mirage.  We’ll split up and cover the city.  It’s a logical place for him to go.” 

“You’ve got it,” Mirage answered.

Prowl then contacted Prime.  The Autobot leader was still far behind them, traveling with Hound, Bumblebee and Ironhide.  “Prime,” the strategist began, “We haven’t had any luck finding Spike.  We’re going to fan out through the city of Portland. He must have gone there.”

“Affirmative, Prowl,” Optimus Prime acknowledged.  “We’ll meet you there and assist in the search.”

It felt wonderful to be free.  Spike knew the city like the back of his hand and headed straight for his dad’s place. There was no point returning to his old apartment. His place had probably been cleaned out already. He slowed down and cruised up his dad’s street.  It was strange to see it again after all of the madness.  Everything looked the same, and he felt weak for a moment.  He wished that nothing in his life had changed.

Spike pulled over to the side of the road two houses down from his dad’s place.  He stopped behind a neighbor’s car under the oak trees that lined the quiet street. The sky was overcast with bulging, grey cumulus clouds that rolled in from the direction of the ocean. The leaves rustled above him and a wind chime tinkled somewhere in the distance.  A wet leaf fell from the tree above and stuck to his windshield.

Spike paid no attention to the leaf. He was focused on more important things. He could see his dad’s house, but was not sure what to do next. He felt the rhythmic thudding of his fuel pump as he remembered what Prime had told him.  How was he going to introduce himself?  His father believed he was dead.  Spike shrunk over his wheels. He might have to face the grim reality that he was alone.  He waited by the curb, frozen with doubt.

One of the neighbor kids was riding his bike back and forth across the street.   Spike watched him, pondering his next move. He knew he could not transform in front of all the neighbors, go up to the door and knock.  The unwanted attention would be embarrassing.

Bored with weaving back and forth, the kid stood up on his bike, then peddled quickly down the street past Spike, seeing how fast he could go.  As Spike tried mentally rehearsing what he might say, a new doubt crept into his mind.  What if he had fled from the Autobots and driven all that way, only to miss meeting his dad?  No, he must be home. It’s Saturday morning. Over and over, Spike confronted the idea that he was going to have to talk to his dad as a car. He would feel foolish, but it was the only way he could avoid attracting everyone else’s attention.

“Yeah, that’s what I’ll do,” he suddenly spoke aloud, forgetting himself.

“Whoa!” The sudden exclamation came from behind Spike. It was the kid on the bike, cycling back up the street. “A talking car!”

The kid dropped his bike and ran up to Spike’s driver’s side window. He pressed his hands against the glass and looked inside for someone. Seeing the car empty he stepped back, leaving handprints on the window.  “Are you KITT?”

Surprised, Spike laughed nervously.  “No, Billy. I’m-”

What was he saying?  Stupid!  Don’t tell him who you are! “Never mind. I didn’t say anything.”  He did it again.  Spike felt stupid.  He shut himself up, concerned that he had foolishly blown his cover. 

“You are KITT!” Billy breathed in awe, and ran off to go get his friends.

Great! Just keep yourself quiet and they’ll go away.

A few minutes later, a small group of kids ran as fast as their little feet could carry them up to Spike.  Out of breath, Billy pointed at Spike and shouted.

“Here he is! It’s KITT, the car!”

One of the older boys was skeptical. “That’s not KITT.  KITT’s a Trans Am.  This is just a Honda Civic. It’s not even cool.”

“It is KITT,” Billy tried to convince the older boy. “He talked to me.  He even knew my name.”

The older boy laughed. “You’re imagining things.  KITT has a red light on the front.  This one doesn’t. It just has this funny looking thing.” He pointed to the Autobot symbol.  “C’mon guys.  Let’s go.”

Billy was frustrated.  He tried to plead with his friends but they ignored him and walked away. 

“Where’s Knight Rider, Billy?” one of the other kids taunted him.

Billy picked up his bike and ran off after the others.

“His name isn’t Knight Rider.  It’s Michael Knight,” Billy corrected his friends. “Guys, wait up!”

Phew! That was close.  Spike glanced at his dad’s front room window. The curtains were stirring.  His dad must have gone to the window while he was preoccupied with the neighborhood kids.  A minute later the garage door began to rise and he saw the illuminated red tail lights of his dad’s truck.

Sparkplug slowly backed out of his driveway. He saw the kids on the road and paused to check over his shoulder that none of them were playing or loitering around in his path.  Regrettably, this was his new daily regime: going to the cemetery to visit his son’s grave.  It seemed that this was the only important activity in his life. He looked over at the framed picture of Spike that lay on the seat beside him and wiped a tear from his eye. Sighing, he shifted from reverse into drive. Every day was so difficult. 

The white reverse lights turned off and the truck slowly drove forward down the road and away from Spike. Spike had not expected his dad to leave in a vehicle.  He had figured that his dad would come outside to do some yard work and he would get to talk to him that way.  Not sure what else to do, he pulled away from the curb and began following his dad.

Where’s he going? There were a lot of possibilities, all leading to busy public areas where it would be difficult to talk.  He could just wait for him to come back home, but Spike really needed to see his dad.

Sparkplug was definitely not heading out to one of the usual stores and he was not headed across the city.  Spike was perplexed.  His dad’s route took them toward the river, but into a quiet area of town.  As his dad’s truck slowed and pulled off to the side, Spike suddenly realized where his dad was taking him.  The Willamette Cemetery.  So, it’s true. Spike was shocked. He stopped at the side of the road.  I can’t believe it.  How can this be?  I’m right here! His dad got out, crossed the street and entered the cemetery.  

This is all wrong! He was not dead, just somewhere... different.  Why did his dad not believe it? Dad knows that the Autobots have this kind of technology.  Nothing was making any sense.  Desperate to set things straight, Spike transformed and cautiously approached the cemetery.  A thick hedge surrounded it, making for a private setting for those within its perimeter.  In robot mode, Spike could see over the hedge.

Sparkplug walked next to the row of plaques near the adjacent hedge at the far edge of the cemetery.  He stopped at a humble grave freshly decorated with flowers.  He knelt down facing away from Spike and was silent for several minutes.  Then, he produced something from inside his jacket and placed it on the grave.   When he stood up and stepped back, Spike saw that the item his dad had placed on the plaque was a picture of him.

Spike was touched by his dad’s show of love and would have shed a tear if he was able. He was choked for words.  He had assumed that his dad had forgotten him because he was a robot, but the opposite was true. Dad still does care.  Spike could not restrain himself any longer. 

“Dad…?” he called hesitantly.

Sparkplug turned around upon hearing the voice.

“Dad!  It’s me, Spike.”

Sparkplug  scanned the cemetary, but no one was there.

“Over here, Dad,” Spike waved his arms in the air.

Sparkplug squinted, not sure who was calling him.  “Who did you say you were?” He did not recognize the Autobot standing on the other side of the hedge.

“Spike,” he responded simply.  “I realize you, uh, don’t recognize me.”  This was not how Spike had hoped to start the conversation.

Sparkplug shook his head and laughed mirthlessly.  “No.  I don’t know who you are.” 

“But -,” Spike tried to explain.

Sparkplug wiped his eyes with his arm. “This is sick. I heard about this from Prime,” he stopped suddenly, unable to continue.

Spike tried to interject.  “Dad! Wheeljack saved me.  You have to believe-”

“No, don’t say anymore,” Sparkplug forced out the words. He paused a moment to collect himself. “You Autobots should have protected him! You can tell Prime that I think it’s sick. Sick that after Spike died, he used my son’s car to build another Autobot.”  He shook his head, a tear running down his cheek.  “I just don’t understand it.”

“But-” Spike fumbled before he was cut off again.

“Do you know where my son is?!” Sparkplug demanded emphatically through his grief.

Spike was afraid to respond.

“Here!”  Sparkplug angrily pointed at the grave. “He’s here!  And that’s what I have to come to terms with!” He wept with his whole body, unable to contain himself.  “I had to bury my own kid.  That’s not supposed to happen.”

Spike’s frame sank.  He hated to see his dad suffering like this.  With downcast optics, Spike realized that there was nothing he could say to convince his dad to believe him.

“I miss you, son,” Sparkplug said through tear-filled eyes as he looked skyward. There was a moment of silence.

“I’m right here, Dad.  I hear you,” Spike protested feebly.

Sparkplug looked at the robot suspiciously.  “I specifically told Prime that I wanted to be left alone.” You are looking over that hedge into my private life.” He wiped the tears away. “I want a son, not a robot. It’s easier to deal with death.”

Spike froze as he listened to his father.  It was the worst thing he imagined his dad could say. He hurt so deeply that he felt numb.  Spike stared off into the distance along the street for awhile. There was nothing left of his old life, nothing at all.  After all the hell he had been through trying to come to terms with what happened to him, re-learning how to function, being so mistrusted and then finally humiliated, he hoped that the one person left who would accept him would be his own father.  But his dad had all of his ideas lined up and there was no way through them. 

He looked back at his dad and a raindrop splattered on his hood, followed by another, and then another. His dad had shrunken down over the grave, holding his head with both hands and weeping with grief. 

With closed eyes, Sparkplug shook his head slowly. “Spike, I just need more time.”

Sparkplug’s words left Spike reeling with confusion. He stepped back from the hedge as the rain started to fall regularly.

A metallic growl behind him caused Spike to jump.  He spun around to see Ravage slinking toward him. 

Spike’s fuel pump surged, the old fear of Ravage instantly returning.  How long had the cat been there watching him? He froze on the spot, paralyzed by fear. 

“So, Spike, is it?” a punk voice asked him.  It was Rumble.  The blue Decepticon landed on the street with his war-mongering pal, Frenzy.

Spike was speechless.  How had the Decepticons found him? He looked up and saw the familiar shape of Laserbeak circling above.

“Yeah, I remember the last time we met.” Frenzy laughed crazily then mocked.  “You didn’t like playing with Ravage.”

The cat hissed at Spike with malice.

Optics wide, Spike stared at Ravage and his memory finally flashed back to life. He recalled reaching for his car door, and then something grabbed him by the leg.  He saw the cat’s face in his mind’s eye, just as he was staring at it in the present moment.  All of the confusion and pain abruptly made sense.

“Hey!” Rumble yelled.  “Megatron wants to talk to you.”

Frenzy was eager to draw his weapon. “What’s it gonna be? Are you comin’ with us or are you gonna fight?”

Spike realized he had to think fast. His dad was still in the cemetery, and obviously heard the Decepticons talking to him.  There was fear in his eyes as he regarded Spike over the hedge.

Spike blinked slowly in the rain.  He had no weapons.  His dad was in danger.  And, he realized, he was an Autobot. If that’s what the Decepticons wanted, then that was what they were going to get.

He hollered over the hedge.  “Dad, run!”

Sparkplug was no stranger to the Decepticons, and took Spike’s advice, fleeing in the opposite direction through the cemetery and into the wooded area behind it.

The Decepticons turned in Sparkplug’s direction, wondering for a moment if they should give chase. But Spike wanted their full, undivided attention.  “You want me?!  You’re going to have to catch me first!”

Spike transformed and spun his wheels for a moment on the wet blacktop before gaining purchase and speeding away. Ravage bounded after him, then stopped and looked back at the other two who were still standing there. The rain bounced off the three Decepticons.  Spike was already far down the road, vanishing from sight.

Frenzy relished the moment.  He flexed his arms and clenched his fists, optics flashing red. “So, he wants to fight.”

“Let’s get ‘im!” Rumble ordered and the three took to the sky.

Rain pelted him as Spike flew down the streets, making left and right turns, hoping to evade the Decepticons. The wet streets reduced his traction and he fishtailed around corners. Luckily, it was Saturday and there were not many people on the road yet.

After several miles, Spike scanned behind him but detected nothing.  Thinking he had lost them, Spike came to a stop.  But then he heard Frenzy’s voice from above.

“Down there!” 

The Decepticons were almost on top of him. Panicked, Spike realized he had to find a place to hide.  But where? He needed to find somewhere sheltered so the Decepticons could not see him from the air.  A parkade! Spike knew where he had to go. He squealed his tires as he took off again, wildly making every turn.  

The chase took him through the streets between the low rise buildings leading toward the city center.  Spike shifted down through the narrower streets and turned right to avoid having to stop at a red light. Turning the corner, the light ahead of him changed from amber to red.  He had no time to wait for it.  Spike checked the cross traffic and sped through the intersection on the red. Pedestrians turned and pointed at him.

He sped up through the next two green lights, making a hard left at the second one as he changed his mind at the last moment. A sign in the block ahead advertised all day parking in an above ground parkade.  It would have to do.  Tires screeched as Spike swerved past a car.  He gunned it through a red light toward the parkade entrance. He braked hard and his back end spun around so that he faced the driveway. I made it! He pulled forward, but was gripped by fear when the ticket machine blocked his way.

“I can’t take a ticket!” he said to himself, both annoyed and scared.  What am I going to do? There was no time to turn around and look elsewhere. This is it!  I have to do it! Spike readied himself, then lurched forward one car length, breaking through the arm of the ticket machine. He stopped and looked down at the broken arm behind him, feeling bad about wrecking it, but knowing he had to get in.

“Rumble to Megatron,” Rumble’s voice was somewhere down the street.  “We’ve got him downtown.”

It was quiet while Rumble waited for Megatron’s response. 

Megatron and his Decepticon interception party soared above the city, looking for an appropriate area to meet the newcomer.

“Good Rumble.  Have you learned any more about where he comes from?”

Rumble hesitated.  “Uh, yeah.  You’re not gonna believe this, but it’s that human kid that hangs out with the Autobots. He must not have made it.”

Megatron narrowed his optics, realizing that he had been fooled by Reflector’s faulty intelligence.  He frowned as the idea of a portal back to Cybertron vanished. No matter. I will have him, anyway.

Starscream overheard Rumble’s report and could not resist taking a jab at Megatron.  He kicked in his thrusters and lined up his sleek jet form parallel to the Decepticon leader. 

“I told you that you were chasing that boy’s car.  But you wouldn’t listen.”

Soundwave and Thundercracker quietly ignored Starcream’s insubordination.

“Silence, Starscream!” Megatron scowled, tempted to aim his particle beam cannon over at the air commander and blow him out of the sky. He resisted, showing the other watching Decepticons his absolute control in the situation. “I came here for a Decepticon recruit, and that is what I will have!”

“You’ll be lucky if you get that,” Starscream said contemptuously as he fell back in behind Megatron and out of easy range of his arm cannon.

Megatron ignored his least favorite Decepticon and redirected his attention to Rumble. “Rumble, drive him into the industrial yards to the east.   He will face me there.”

“Got it, Megatron,” Rumble acknowledged, and commanded his fellow Decepticons. “Split up and look for ‘im.”

Spike had to move quickly. The energon was pumping through his fuel lines.  He tried to compose himself and casually wound his way up the levels of the parkade so as not to attract attention, looking for a place to park and blend in.

On the third level, he found his spot. Spike backed himself in, just in case he needed to make a fast getaway.  All he could do was wait and hope that they would not find him.

He looked around.  Through the openings in the outer concrete wall, the rain poured down outside.  The other cars were dry since they had parked before the downpour started. Spike realized that he was the only wet car. Between that, and the large red Autobot symbol displayed on his hood, he realized with horror that he was a dead giveaway. Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea.

Ravage stopped on the street in front of the parkade, glowering at the broken ticket machine arm.  He growled excitedly, seeing the wet tire tracks leading into the parkade. The cat bounded up the driveway into the first level. Seeing the metallic creature entering his parkade, the parking attendant dropped the pieces of the broken ticket machine arm and fled next door.

Spike heard Ravage’s metallic growl echo on one of the levels below him. Ravage wasted no time checking the vehicles for an Autobot symbol.  There were four levels to the parkade and no way out but past Ravage. Now it was just a game of cat and mouse and Ravage was, of course, the cat. Ravage was on guard for the slightest movement out of the ordinary as he slinked up to the third level.

Ravage was close enough now that Spike could hear his feet clinking against the concrete.  The cat was confident, not trying to hide the sound of his footsteps.  Trapped, the oil in his hydraulic lines felt like sludge.  The low headroom prevented him from transforming. Spike supposed it did not matter, though, since he was weaponless. Although… not defenseless.    

Spike’s systems buzzed with heightened activity as he anxiously watched Ravage’s head appear around the concrete wall.  He was sure the cat could see him, but Ravage looked away in the other direction as he cautiously moved forward.  He’s going to see me any second! Even though he knew what to do, panic overwhelmed Spike. 

Ravage eased forward, body tensed and ready to strike. He turned to his left, as he completed his scan of the cars on his right. Spike wondered if his reflexes would be fast enough. He would have to time it perfectly, just as Ravage turned to look at him.  Sure enough, Ravage’s head began to slowly turn back in his direction. Now!

Spike activated his Solar Lux Lamps. There was a nearly imperceptible pause before the third level of the parkade lit up like daylight. The blinding light caught Ravage full in the optics.

Spike peeled out of the parking spot.  He turned hard to his right, knocking Ravage into a parked car as he sped away first down to the second level, then first level, and finally through the parkade exit arm and into the street.  Next door, the parking attendant recognized the car that had broken the first arm, but there was nothing he was going to do about it.  That creature was still in the parkade.

Although blinded, Ravage’s other sensors and equipment still functioned. He alerted Rumble and Frenzy of Spike’s escape from the parkade. The other two Decepticons halted their search in the streets nearby and took back to the air, looking for the fleeing black vehicle.  They swept over the buildings, observing the casual human traffic below. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

“Where did he go?” Rumble asked Frenzy, puzzled.

Something darting across the bridge nearby caught Frenzy’s attention.  “There!”

“This is gonna be easy.  He’s practically walking right up to Megatron,” Rumble realized.  “We’re gonna look like heroes.”

As Spike fled over the bridge to the east side of the city, Rumble informed Megatron of Spike’s whereabouts. The fateful rendezvous would occur shortly.

In a mall parking lot on the east side, Optimus Prime had gathered his Autobots together. 

“I don’t understand it,” Bumblebee said, “we can’t find him anywhere.”

“Perhaps it’s time to pay Sparkplug a visit,” Optimus Prime said solemnly. He had hoped that he would not have to intrude upon Sparkplug in his grief.

But then, Hound’s radar alerted him. “Prime!  I’m picking up Decepticons in the area. Several of them.”

“What are Decepticons doing out here?” Bumblebee asked.

“The same thing we’re doing here, Bumblebee. They must be looking for Spike.”

“We have no time to lose.  Autobots, we must find Spike quickly or risk losing him.” Prime called Prowl, Wheeljack and Mirage. “The Decepticons are after Spike,” he informed them. “Meet up with us.”  Then Optimus Prime directed his attention to his scout. “Hound, lead the way to the Decepticons. Autobots, roll out.”

Without a plan, and with Rumble and Frenzy still after him, Spike sped east along a road through an industrial district.  He did not know where he was going to go. As it turned out, running away from Autobot Headquarters only landed him in a worse predicament than if he had stayed.  He could see now why Prime wanted him to stay close to the base. 

But why are the Decepticons pursuing me? Autobots left the base alone all the time and never had to contend with what he was facing.  They must know what happened to me. He remembered how Megatron had tried to sway his loyalties in his brief time as Autobot X. That reason made the most sense of all. And that meant that they would try to recruit him again.

Spike’s tires slipped as he made a left turn at a steel yard.  He sped down the street, but it ended abruptly with a warehouse on one side and an empty lot on the other. A dead end.  He realized that he had taken a wrong turn.

Before he could back up, Spike detected six Decepticons approaching rapidly from the air.  It was over.  Spike transformed and waited. He should have been frightened as Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream, Thundercracker and the two cassettes, Rumble and Frenzy, dropped down out of the sky around him.  There was nothing he could do but accept his fate.

The huge Decepticon leader strolled confidently up to him. Spike cast his optics down at the ground, but Megatron grabbed his faceplate and forced him to look in his optics. “Greetings, Autobot Spike.”  Megatron smirked. “We meet again.”

Soundwave and Thundercracker laughed.  Hearing their boss’s strange metallic laugh, Rumble and Frenzy also joined in. Starscream was not impressed.

Spike closed his optics.

Megatron let go of him and put his hands on his hip plates.  “I see we have helped you attain a higher form of being.” He tipped his chin up and grinned down at Spike through narrowed optics. “I think you know why I’m here.”

Spike remained silent.

Megatron turned and faced him. “You know you have a choice.  But there is only one decision you can make that will let you leave here alive.”

Starscream crossed his arms and rolled his optics skyward. It was always a chore to endure Megatron’s theatrics. 

The Decepticon leader glanced through the rain at his warriors on either side of Spike.

“Heh, heh. Answer Megatron, if you know what’s good for you,” Thundercracker advised.

Spike was at a loss for words. He was not the same Autobot Spike that Megatron was seeking. That one had disappeared years ago.  He was just the same old Spike, complete with all the same imperfections. His old life might be gone, but it did not mean that the Decepticons were his only option.  He did not feel enmity toward the Autobots. They had saved him in the only way that they knew how.  Like his dad, he just needed more time to sort out everything.

Megatron awaited his response.

Spike could not give in to the same dark forces that had destroyed his humanity and threatened the Earth. His decision was made, and he had to accept whatever consequences it brought him. 

Spike rehearsed the word mentally before softly saying it aloud to Megatron. “No.”

Megatron showed no noticeable response.  Instead, he simply glared at the Autobot below him. “Your loss.” The Decepticon leader heaved Spike into Starscream, who caught him and held his arms so that he could not move.

A low growl of approaching engines caught the attention of the other Decepticons.  They turned in time to see Optimus Prime, flanked by many of his Autobots, transform from their vehicle forms.  The Autobots sprang toward the Decepticons with weapons drawn.

Megatron signaled Starscream to show them the captive. Starscream spun Spike around into full view. 

“Autobots! Hold your fire!” Optimus Prime commanded with an arm extended to one side.

“Stay back, Optimus Prime!” Megatron ordered as he aimed his arm cannon. “I’ll blow your precious Spike to pieces!”

“You wouldn’t,” Prime tried calling his bluff.

“Oh, I would, Prime,” Megatron engaged him and commanded Starscream to face him. “Let me give you a little demonstration.”

Spike lowered his head, expecting the worst. Rain ran in rivulets down his features.

Prime was shocked by Megatron’s cruelty. “Let him go. Shoot at me, if you have to. This is between us.”

Megatron was undeterred. The last thing he was going to do was let Spike go and have Prime increase his numbers.  He trained his particle beam cannon on Spike. Spike felt Starscream flinch behind him as the air commander realized that Megatron did not care if his shot went straight through Spike’s body and into Starscream.  He imagined Megatron’s brilliant cannon fire in his mind’s optic and was reminded of the ability that Wheeljack gave him.  He looked up at Megatron and smiled strangely.

“I will enjoy this,” Megatron narrowed his optics.

“He’s done for,” Hound said quietly to those nearby.

“Not so sure ‘bout that,” Ironhide said, noticing the change in Spike’s body language. He turned and glanced at Wheeljack.

Also realizing what was about to happen, Wheeljack yelled at the other Autobots at the last possible moment, “Guys! Cover your optics!”

The black visor slid into place, protecting Spike’s optics not a second before the disabling brilliance from his Solar Lux Lamps struck Megatron. The Decepticon leader was invisible for a moment as the light engulfed him. 

“Good work, Spike,” Wheeljack commended him quietly from a distance when he saw the glow around his arm.

After a moment, Spike turned the lights off and the visor retracted.

Megatron growled as he pressed his palms into his optics.  “What have you done to my optics!”  He aimed his arm cannon back at where he thought Spike was standing and fired. The shot struck Thundercracker, who was still stunned by his overloaded optic sensors, knocking the Seeker off his feet.

“You just hit Thundercracker!” Rumble exclaimed in disbelief.  He and Frenzy still had their sight because of their short height and position behind Starscream.

Starscream held Spike tightly, even as his optics quickly recovered to a level at which he could minimally function.  He laughed heartily at Megatron and pushed Spike forward. Spike caught his footing and turned back toward Starscream.

“Autobot,” Starscream laughed. “You have my gratitude - temporarily.” The air commander transformed and thrust himself into the air. “Decepticons, follow the sound of my engines.”

Rumble and Frenzy feebly tried to help Thundercracker to stand, but Soundwave stopped them.

“Rumble, Frenzy, return.”  Soundwave waited while his minions transformed and returned in cassette form to his open chest compartment. The communicator’s optics were not functioning properly but his auditory senses were perfect.

“Soundwave!” Megatron called blindly.  “Take me back to Decepticon Headquarters!” 

Following the sound of Megatron’s transformation, Soundwave caught his leader and carried him off into the sky after Starscream. Thundercracker transformed and followed the others.

The Autobots cheered as they watched the Decepticon retreat.

Optimus Prime went over to Spike and knelt down on one knee so that he could be at the same level as Spike.  “I had no idea Wheeljack gave you such a powerful weapon.”

“It’s not really a weapon, Prime,” Spike explained, laughing with relief.  “It’s a defensive tactic,” Spike copied Wheeljack’s manner of explanation, complete with finger raised for emphasis. 

Everyone laughed at Spike’s joke.  The others circled around.

Spike became serious and looked up at Prime. “I’m sorry I ran away like that.”  He looked away, thinking of his dad. “There was something I needed to do.”

Bumblebee relaxed and looked up at Ironhide, who only grinned. Relieved to see Spike was okay, he addressed his friend. “So Spike, are you ready to come back?”

Spike looked down. “Yeah.”  He did not sound enthusiastic.

“Spike,” Prime stated to him.  “I’m sorry for any difficulty that you’ve suffered. You are our friend and are always welcome to stay with us.”

“Yeah, I know,” Spike looked up at Prime, his thoughts elsewhere.  “I’m okay.  Let’s just go.”

Prime stood up and surveyed the other Autobots.  The tall figure before him gave him a sense of stability that reminded him of the dad he missed.  He would be okay, Spike told himself.

“In that case, we’re going home,” Prime said in a soothing tone. “Autobots! Transform and roll out!”

Spike stood there, as he had so many times in the past, and watched the other Autobots transform into their vehicle modes.  He looked at Bumblebee and imagined himself climbing in through the open door, eager to go back to Autobot Headquarters.

“What’s the matter, Spike?”  Bumblebee asked.

Spike scratched the back of his head.  “Oh, nothing.”

Now one of them, Spike transformed and the convoy slowly made its way back to the base.

The next day began rather uneventfully.  Spike powered back up.  His fuel gauge told him he was running low on energon, so he got up and headed for the main corridor. Optimus Prime was waiting for him just outside the lounge.

“I want to recognize your commendable service for your actions against the Decepticons yesterday.”

The news surprised Spike.  “Really?”

“Affirmative.  The official presentation will occur at noon.”

Spike cast his optics down.  “None of this would have happened if I had stayed at the base.”

“What’s important is that you came back, Spike,” Optimus Prime reassured him.

“But isn’t Wheeljack the one who should be recognized?” Spike asked. “He’s the one who gave me the Lux Lamps.”

Optimus Prime paused for a moment and then chuckled. “Yes, Spike. I suppose he does deserve some recognition.  But first there is something I want to give you.  Jazz will come see you and fill you in on the details.”

“Well, okay,” Spike responded hesitantly.

“It’s something you deserve,” Optimus Prime reassured him. “I’ll see you at noon.”

The Autobot leader left Spike to join Bumblebee for energon in the lounge. Bumblebee got cups for both of them.  Spike gave energon another try and found that it was not as bad as he had remembered.  Maybe the bad experience had been in his mind.

It so happened that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were there also. The red warrior sported several new dents and scratches to his paint job, but was otherwise his usual self.  Obviously, Ratchet was refusing to deal with the damage.

After a short while, Jazz came to the lounge.

“Hey Spike,” Jazz greeted him as he sat down with Spike and Bumblebee. “Prime sent me to give you the lowdown on today’s festivities.”

“Okay,” Spike acknowledged.

Jazz grinned.  “There’s just one rule to this sort of thing. To receive the award you have to stay away from the main area of B-deck until the ceremony is over.”

“That sounds weird.  Why?” Spike inquired.

“It’s no big deal,” Jazz answered smoothly.  “Just an old Autobot tradition. It’s just the way we’ve got to do this.  Just play along.”

“Um, okay,” Spike shrugged.

“You’ll dig it, Spike,” Jazz told him and stood up.  “Just hang out here and Ironhide’ll come get you in a couple of hours.”

Spike spent the rest of the morning chatting with Bumblebee in the lounge. Just before noon, Ironhide came to get them.

“We’re ready,” was all the security chief said, and led them up the causeway and out beside the base. 

The sky was overcast, but the rain had stopped.  With the clouds now relieved of their heavy burden they lifted higher and allowed a few fortunate beams of sunlight to shine through.  The Autobots were lined up, waiting for Spike and Bumblebee to emerge from the Ark.  At the end of the assembly, Prime waited for them.

Wheeljack gave Spike a thumbs up.  Side by side, Spike and Bumblebee walked past the others, on their way toward the Autobot leader.  Proud of Spike and his spirits high because everything had turned out all right in the end, Bumblebee smiled. Spike stared ahead of him, still feeling a bit nervous about all the attention.

The two Autobots stopped before Prime. The Autobot leader paused before he spoke.

“As you all know,” he began, talking to everyone present.  “The events of the last two weeks have been challenging for us all, but especially so for Spike.”

Prime looked down at Spike, adding emphasis to the statement.  The corners of Spike’s mouth turned up ever so slightly.  He was glad that Prime did not point out the obvious details of what happened. 

“We are assembled today to recognize Spike’s courage in the face of adversity. For those who weren’t with us in Portland yesterday, Spike earned his place among us as a true Autobot.” There was something about the way that Prime spoke that was easy to listen to and made everyone feel comfortable.

“Spike?” Prime turned his attention to the black Autobot before him.

“Uh, yes, Prime?” Spike responded.

“When the Decepticons clearly had the upper hand and we were prevented from rescuing you, you took matters into your own hands and saved the day.” Prime’s tone was genuine.

Spike was tempted to fidget, but tried his best to keep still.

Prime summoned Prowl, who stepped forward. The strategist produced a sparkling golden medallion embossed in the shape of an Autobot symbol and handed it over to Optimus Prime.  The Autobot leader nodded, and Spike bowed to allow Prime to place the ribbon holding the medallion over his head.

Prime took a step back and again gazed upon the other Autobots, before returning his attention back to Spike. He tipped his head to the side.  “Spike, I hereby give you all the benefits and responsibilities of a full status Autobot.”

“Wow!” he exclaimed quietly. He gazed down at the golden Autobot symbol laid across his chest with a sparkle in his optics.  “It’s... an honor.”

Bumblebee laughed merrily. “Way to go, Spike!”

Prime called Ironhide forward. The security chief revealed a silver photon rifle he had cleverly concealed and displayed it across his open palms as he proceeded toward Spike. He recalled the events of the last few days. He smiled. Everything had turned out according to plan. Spike did not need a security guard. He needed the experience of the real world.

Ironhide stopped before Optimus Prime, then turned toward Spike. Spike responded likewise, doubly in awe now at the sight of the impressive weapon before him.

The security chief held out the rifle, and Spike carefully received it from Ironhide.

“I think you’ve got the short range fightin’ figured out,” he winked at Spike, who smiled widely back at him.  “This here is a photon rifle for protecting yourself in long range combat.  Bluestreak over there will show you how to use it.”  Ironhide motioned toward the gunner, who waved and laughed nervously.

“Also, you’ll be happy to hear there’ll be no more of me followin’ you around.” Ironhide slapped Spike’s shoulder.  “You can handle things on your own now.”

With his presentation finished, Ironhide looked back to Optimus Prime to finish the ceremonial officiation.

Spike was happy to receive the medal and be issued the rifle, but he still missed something that would truly lighten his spirits. Prime must have known what he was thinking. 

“You know, Spike,” Prime began.  “Somehow, I don’t think all of this is what you really wanted.”

Spike was perplexed. What does Prime mean?